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REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D. 


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H  Y  >I  N  s 


AND 


APR  16 1936 


&f.  *® 


SKETCHES    IN    VERSE. 


BY  TIIE  AUTHOR  OF 

"TALES  OF  THE  GREAT  AND  BRAVE,"  "TALES  OF  MANY 
LANDS,"  "MY  BOY'S  FIRST  BOOK,"  kc. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.  LOCKEN,  311  MARKET  STREET. 

1851. 


I 


TO 


GEORGE  RAWDON  ,- 


HYMNS  AND  SKETCHES  IN  VERSE 


ARE  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED. 


"  The  Lord  bless  thee,  and  keep  thee. 

"  The  Lord  make  his  face  to  shine  upon  thee,  and  be 
gracious  unto  thee. 

"  The  Lord  lift  up  his  countenance  upon  thee,  and  give 
thee  peace."  (Numbers,  vi.  24,  25,  26.) 

"  The  Lord  watch  between  me  and  thee,  when  we  are 
absent  one  from  another."  (Genesis,  xxxi.  49.) 

(iii) 


PREFACE 


M*  dear,  dear  Boy, 

In  the  following  Hymns  and  Sketches  you, 
and  perhaps  others,  may  think  that  while  most  of 
them  are  suited  to  your  early  age,  there  are  some 
only  fitted  for  those  who  are  many  years  your  senior. 
This  I  feel  to  be  true,  but  I  have  an  excuse  to  plead. 
I  have  dedicated  the  book  particularly  to  you,  be- 
cause   your    name    is    uppermost    in  my    heart ;     but 

H 1  and  U n  have  equal  claims  ;  and  but  that 

"  human   love"   is   not   "  the   growth   of  human  will," 

those  of  U n's  ought  perhaps  to  be  the  strongest. 

Thus   it   is,   that   though   nominally    for   you   alone,   I 
would,  by  suiting  different  parts  to  your  different  ages, 

(v) 


VI  PREFACE. 

have  eacn  find  in  it  what  may  interest  each.  Such 
my  dear  boy,  is  my  apology,  and  one  which  by  you, 
I  know,  will  be  readily  accepted. 

These  hymns  have  not  been  written  solely  with 
the  intention  of  being  committed  to  memory,  but 
rather  in  the  hope  that  the  perusal  of  them  may 
often  give  you  pleasure.  Should  this  hope  be  real- 
ized, should  any  of  these  lines  aid  the  endeavours 
of  those  around  you  to  turn,  in  the  midst  of  all  your 
gladness,  your  thoughts  to  God,  soothe  you  in  an 
hour  of  sickness,  or  awaken  one  thought  of  another 
and  a  better  world,  then  will  the  heart  of  one  who 
dearly  and  fondly  loves  you,  have  ample  reward. 


TO  MY  DEAR  BOY. 

When  joyousness  is  round  my  path, 
And  mirth  laughs  near  the  while, 

I  think  of  thee,  my  gentle  boy, 
And  bless  thy  name,  and  smile. 

When  sorrow's  darkest  frowns  are  near, 

My  heart  in  grief  to  steep, 
I  think  of  thee,  my  absent  boy, 

And  bless  thy  name  and  weep. 

While  bending  down  before  my  God, 

At  opening  dawn  of  day  ; 
I  think  of  thee,  my  much  loved  boy, 

And  bless  thy  name,  and  pray. 

(vii) 


Vll  I 


And  when  death's  damps  shall  stain  my 
And  death's  dews  dim  mine  eye, 

I'll  think  of  thee,  dear  cherished  child, 
And  bless  thy  name  and  die. 


^w, 


CONTENTS 


Hymn        - 

Page 

-     13 

The  Dying  Child 

16 

Morning  Hymn     - 

-     23 

The  Book  of  God 

26 

G R 's  Hymn  and  Prayer 

-     30 

Hymn              - 

40 

A  Walk  in  February 

-     42 

The  Sabbath    - 

45 

To  G R 

-     47 

The  Roman  Mother     - 

51 

Hymn 

-     56 

(ix) 


X  CONTENTS. 

Page 

The  Brothers  of  Germany  58 

Hymn        -             -             -             -             -  -     65 

The  Altar  in  the  Wilderness  68 

H t's  Birthday               -             -             -  -72 

U n's  Birthday        -             ...  77 

R n's  Birthday              -             -             -  -     80 

To  R n      -----  82 

H y's  Birthday              -             -             -  -     85 

The  Dream      -----  88 

Hymn        -             -            -            -            -  -     94 

Hymn               -----  97 

Prayer  for  Belief  -            -            -            -  100 

The  First  Grief           -            -            -  101 

Hymn        -            -            -            -            -  -  113 

Hymn               -             -             -             -  115 

The  Holy  Child  of  Westminster  Abbey  -  -  117 

Hymn-            -----  121 


CONTENTS. 

XI 

Page 

Hymn        - 

-  124 

The  Sister's  Lament   - 

127 

To  G R - 

-  132 

A  Fragment                                -            m 

135 

Hymn        - 

-  146 

Hymn               - 

149 

The  Orphans         - 

-  152 

Hymn                                          -            - 

159 

The  Sailor  Boy    - 

-  162 

To  G R 

174 

Hymn        - 

-  177 

Spring               - 

179 

They  had  gone  forth         - 

-  184 

G R 's  Hymn 

197 

Hymn        - 

-  201 

Hymn  ------ 

204 

The  Missionary's  Grave  -            -            - 

-  206 

Xll  CONTENTS. 

Page 

Hymn  ....  -        217 

Hymn        ------  220 

The  Sabbath  Hymn  222 


HYMNS 


AND 


SKETCHES  IN  VERSE 


HYMN. 


Teach  me,  Almighty  God,  to  raise 

My  heart  to  thee,  in  grateful  praise 

Teach  me,  0  Lord,  to  how  before 

Thy  throne,  and  humbly  to  adore 

Thy  wondrous  ways. 

fl3) 


14 

Teach  me,  Almighty  God,  to  see 
The  wonders  of  the  Deity  : 
Teach  me  in  earth,  and  air,  and  sky, 
To  note  thy  glorious  majesty. 
Teach  me  to  worship  thee. 

Teach  me  a  willing  ear  to  lend 
To  her,  my  childhood's  surest  friend  : 
Oh,  teach  me  so  to  act  my  part, 
That  her  name,  ever  in  my  heart, 
With  thine  may  blend. 

A  mother's  counsels,  may  they  be 
Still  welcomed  and  revered  by  me, 


15 

That  I,  in  childhood,  and  in  youth, 
May  love  the  sacred  paths  of  truth, 
And  live  alone  for  thee. 

I  thank  thee  for  the  care  which  gave 
Me  parents,  who  will  seek  to  save 
Their  child  from  ill,  and  turn  his  eyes 
And  thoughts  to  that  fair  world,  that  lies 
Beyond  the  grave, 

Oh,  teach  me,  then,  to  bend  in  prayer, 
And  thank  thee  for  so  great  a  share 
Of  blessings,  lest  I  e'er  should  be 
Thankless  for  mercies  granted  me, 
And  worthless  of  thy  care. 


1G 


THE  DYING  CHILD. 

A  little  sufferer  lay  stretched  upon  the 

bed  of  death  : 
Brief,  brief  had  been  his  young  career  ; 

the  spring's  rejoicing  breath 
Had  played  around  his  bright  fair  head, 

through  eight  successive  years  ; 
Eight  joyous   summers   he  had  known  ; 

the  ninth  arose  in  tears  ; 
For  he  was   dying  !    On  that   brow,   so 

innocently  fair, 


17 

Death  had  been  writ.     Alas  !  to  see  his 

gloomy  impress  there  : 
Alas !   to  see  the  agony  his  slender  form 

that  wrung, 
While   still,  in    every  brief   respite,  that 

holy  infant  sung 
His  song  of  praise,  and  blessed  the  hand 

that  held  the  chastening  rod, 
And  prayed  that  pain  and  suffering  soon 

might  fit  him  for  his  God  ; 
Or    now,    on   feebly-bended    knee,    he'd 

raise  his  loving  eye, 
And    plead,    if   'twas    his    Father's  will, 

that  yet  he  might  not  die, 


18 

In    the    long,  sleepless    hours    of    night. 

'twas  sad,  hut  sweet  to  hear 
How  oft  that  fair  child's  voice  would  rise. 

first  low,  then  proudly  clear ; 
And  thus  his  gushing  song  he'd  pour  to 

that  high   Power  above, 
Who,  from    his  earliest  years,  had   been 

to  him  a  God  of  love. 

"  Lord  Jesus,  holy  Son  of  God  ! 

Look  on  me  where  I  kneel, 
Thou,  who  though  blest  as  heaven  itself, 

For  others'  woes  can  feel. 


19 

"  Look   on    thy   child's    deep    suffering ; 

Look  on  his  grief  and  fear  : 
Lord  Jesus,  holy  Son  of  God, 

Hear  me,  my  Saviour,  hear ! 

Oh,  if  it  be  thy  mighty  will, 
Stretch  forth  thy  hand  to  save  : 

I  am  too  young,  too  unprepared, 
So  soon  to  seek  the  grave. 

Hear  me,  my  Father !  speak  the  word  ; 

Send  me  some  speedy  cure, 
Or,  if  such  seem  not  good  to  thee, 

Then  teach  me  to  endure. 


20 

Oh,  hush  my  feeble  plaints  that  rise, 
Let  not  my  tear-drops  flow  ; 

Let  me  not  add,  O  God  of  love, 
To  a  loved  mother's  woe. 

I  know,  by  her  pale,  thoughtful  brow, 

And  by  her  altered  eye, 
And  by  the  tears  she  strives  to  hide, 

She  feels  that  I  must  die. 

And  by  the  love  that  she  has  shown, 
Love  equalled  but  by  thine, 

And  by  the  grief  she  suffers  now 
She'd  give  her  life  for  mine, 


21 

So  would  not  I — no,  she  must  live; 

Be  it  thy  high  decree 
That  she  may  lead  our  little  band 

To  joy.  and  heaven,  and  thee." 

The  fair  child  ceased — for  near  him  then, 

in  sorrow's  darkest  mood, 
Breathless,   his    innocent   words   to    list, 

the  weeping  mother  stood. 
He  raised  his  soft,  deep  loving  eye,  with 

a  thrill  of  joy,  that  came 
Like    the    sudden    ebbing    back   of   life, 

through  his  enfeebled  frame  : — 


22 

"And  art  thou  here  !  I  might  have  known, 

thou  that  art  never  far." 
He  wreathed  his  arms  her  neck  around, 

and  like  a  glittering  star, 
Not  dimmed  or  damped  by  the  dews  of 

death,  altho'  death  lurked  so  near, 
His    sunny  curls   lay  motionless  on    the 

breast  that  throbbed  with  fear  ; 
For  on  his  brow  there  was  a  light,  too 

bright  for  the  earth  she  trod  : 
It  was  his  call  to  heaven — the  child  was 

an  angel  with  his  God  ! 


23 


MORNING  HYMN. 

Come,  let  us  raise  our  hearts  to  God, 
And  kneel,  and  humbly  pray  ; 

'Tis  fitting  that  our  little  band 
Should  thus  begin  the  day. 

For  God  it  is  who  gives  us  joy, 
He  guards  our  tender  years  ; 

But  for  his  love  we  might  have  passed 
Our  early  life  in  tears. 


24 

He  grants  us  blessings  one  by  one, 
He  gives  them  every  hour  ; 

He  shields  us  with  almighty  love, 
Guards  with  almighty  power. 

Nor  is  this  all ;  well  may  we  seek, 
Well  may  we  love  to  pray, 

Since  Jesus  died  upon  the  cross, 
To  wash  our  sins  away. 

Jesus,  who  loved  us,  and  who  said, 
"  Let  children  come  to  me  :  " 

How  grateful  for  kind  words  like  these 
Should  little  children  be  ! 


25 

Then  let  us  come  before  him  now, 
He  will  not  turn  away  ; 

God  is  so  good,  he  loves  to  hear 
Better  than  we  to  pray. 


26 


THE  BOOK  OF  GOD. 

What  should  we  do  without  the  Boot 

The  sacred  Book  of  God  ? 
How  should  we  know  the  better  path } 

How  bear  the  chastening  rod 
Without  its  aid  ?     When  God  sees  fit 

To  bow  us  down  in  grief, 
Where,  but  amid  its  sacred  lines, 

Should  we  seek  and  find  relief? 
If  by  deep  pain  and  suffering 

And  sickness  we  are  worn, 


27 

We  look  into  his  Book,  and  find, 

"Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,"* 
Btessed  are  they  that  sorrow  here  ; 

They  shall  be  blessed  on  high  : 
This  earth  is  not  their  home,  and  grief 

Prepares  them  for  the  sky. 
If  we  bend,  mourning,  o'er  the  graves 

Of  those  we  see  no  more, 
His  Book  then  tells  us  they  are  blessed, 

And  all  their  labours  o'er.f 


*  "  Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,  for  they  shall  be 
comforted." — (Matt.  v.  4.) 

t  "Blessed  are  the  dead  which  die  in  the  Lord, 
even  so  saith  the  Spirit,  for  they  rest  from  their 
labour."— (Rev.  xiv.  13.) 


28 

Had  we  to  mourn  an  orphan's  fate, 

And  think  that  fate  unkind, 
God  tells  us  that  the  fatherless 

In  him  a  father  find.* 
And  more,  more  blest  assurances 

Within  that  Book  we  see  ; — 
Christ  Jesus,  with  an  angry  God. 

Our  advocate  will  be  :f 
For  'tis  a  saying  kind  as  true, 

That  Jesus  sought  the  grave, 


*  "  A  Father  of  the  fatherless,  and  a  judge  of  the 
widows  is  God  in  his  holy  habitation." — (Psalm 
Lxviii.  50.) 

t "  If  any  man  sin,  he  hath  an  advocate  with  the 
Father,  Christ  Jesus,  the  righteous." — (1  John,  ii.  12.) 


29 

And  came  into  this  world  of  sin 
That  sinners  he  might  save.* 

Blessed  holy  Book  !  well  may  we  prize 
It  as  our  dearest  bliss  ; 

It  fits  us  for  another  world, 
And  cheers  us  on  in  this. 


* "  This  is  a  faithful  saying,  and  worthy  of  all 
acceptation,  that  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world 
to  save  sinners." — (Timothy,  i.   15.) 


30 


G R S 

HYMN  AND  PRAYER. 


Prayer    is    an    expression    of   our    dependence  upon 
God." 


HYMN. 

All  gracious  God,  who  reigns  on  high, 

On  thee  will  I  depend, 
Nor  fear  to  seek  the  throne  of  Him 

Who  is  the  sinner's  friend. 


31 

How  good,  how  merciful  thou  art, 

To  lend  a  gracious  ear  ! 
E'en  when  the  voice  of  childhood  prays, 

I  know  that  thou  wilt  hear. 

And  can  it  be — shall  I  be  heard, 

While  tremblingly  I  raise 
My  voice  to  where  blest  angels  sing 

Eternal  songs  of  praise  ? 

Yes,  I  may  plead,  and  thou,  e'en  thou, 

Will  listen  to  my  prayer, 
While  I,  for  every  cherished  one, 

Entreat  a  Father's  care 


32 

Then  let  me  humbly  bend  the  knee, 
And  lift  my  voice  on  high, 

Blest  in  the  blest  security 
That  God  will  hear  my  cry. 

PRAYER. 

All-gracious  God,  behold  me  here, 

While  humbly  thus  I  bow, 
Entreating  thou  wilt  crown  with  peace 

A  gentle  mother's  brow. 
Let  holy  joyfulness  attend 

Her  sojourn  here  below  ; 
Pour  not  on  her  meek  heart  the  stream 

Of  bitterness  and  woe. 


33 

Let  not  those  loving  eyes,  that  smile 

Upon  our  infant  plays, 
Be  dimmed  by  one  unwelcome  thought 

Of  us  in  coming  days. 
And  may  we,  in  long  after-years, 

Like  props  around  her  stand, 
And  may  she  never  have  to  mourn 

A  broken  household  band — 
Broken  by  death  !  or  worse — by  sin  : 

Nor  heedless  of  her  care, 
May  we  ne'er  blight  her  dearest  hopes  ; 

Christ  Jesus,  hear  my  prayer. 
Another  parent's  cause  I'd  plead, 

And  I  on  high  would  raise 


34 

A  father's  name  :  shower  blessings,  Lord, 

Upon  his  coming  days. 
With  kindness  he  has  ever  trained 

The  children  of  his  love  ; 
Do  thon  make  him  thy  chosen  child, 

Christ !  holy  one  above, 
And  as  he  leads  us  gently  on 

Through  life,  be  thou  his  guide  ; 
Be  Father,  to  our  father,  Lord, 

That  o'er  the  stream  may  glide 
In  peacefulness  his  bark  ;  and  when 

His  earthly  course  is  done, 
May  he  live  ever  with  his  God, 

And  God's  eternal  Son. 


35 

Again  my  feeble  voice  I'd  raise, 

In  deep  and  earnest  prayer  ; 
Take,  take  my  gentle  brother,  Lord, 

Beneath  thy  fost'ring  care  : 
And  may  the  light,  in  coming  days, 

That  shines  upon  his  brow, 
Be  calm,  and  proudly  beautiful 

And  innocent  as  now  ; 
And  may  the  blue  of  his  clear  eye 

Be  long  undimmed  by  tears  : 
Be  thou  his  guide,  his  hope,  his  stay, 

In  all  his  coming  years. 
And  bless  my  dark-eyed  brother,  too, 

With  all  his  winning  ways, 


36 

The  gentle,  thoughtful  tenderness 

That  every  look  betrays. 
Were  gifts  from  thee  !  oh,  guard    them 
well ! 

Let  not  one  bright  flower  fade  ; 
Spread  wide  their  perfume,  since  thy  hand 

So  rich  the  soil  has  made. 

And  bless  the  fair  and  gentle  babe, 
Our  plaything  and  our  care, 

And  make  him  good  and  prosp'rous,  Lord, 
Since  thou  hast  made  him  fair. 

For  fair  and  fairy  is  the  child, 
Yet  I  have  seen  his  eye 


37 

Wax  strange  and  dim,  and  his  pale  cheek 

Proclaim  that  he  must  die. 
And  vain  seemed  every  earthly  aid, 

And  every  hope  was  o'er ; 
But  thy  hand  raised  him  up  from  death, 

So  be  it  evermore. 
All-gracious  God,  in  every  ill 

That  may  his  steps  attend, 
Be  thou,  as  then,  all  merciful, 

His  Saviour  and  his  friend. 

I  too,  O  God,  for  mine  own  self 
Would  ask  thy  gracious  care  ; 

Helpless  I  am,  and  much  in  need 
To  raise  my  heart  in  prayer. 


38 

My  every  effort,  Lord,  do  thou 

Assist,  and  seek  to  meiid 
My  sinful  ways.     But  for  the  thought 

That  thou'rt  the  sinner's  friend, 
How  should  I  dare  to  draw  so  near 

The  footstool  of  thy  grace  ? 
How  venture  thus  alone  to  kneel, 

And  meet  thee  face  to  face  ? 
For  thou  hast  said,  that  while  alone 

We  seek  thee  out  in  prayer, 
In  mercy  and  in  gentleness, 

Thou  surely  wilt  be  there. 
Then,  ere  my  fervent,  last  amen 

In  trusting  hope  I  breathe, 


39 

Amid  the  band  for  whom  I  pray, 

Another  name  I'd  weave, 
And  ask  for  blessings  on  her  head, 

For  she  has  loved  me  well ; 
And  I  have  marked  how  frequently 

Her  silent  tear-drops  fell, 
When  I,  in  childish  sport,  have  wreathed 

My  arms  her  neck  arounc1, 
Or  with  wild  flow'rets,  culled  for  her, 

Have  strewed  the  perfumed  ground. 
Lord,  send  thy  love  into  our  souls, 

Let  us  live  to  worship  thee, 
So  shall  her  heart  be  comforted, 

And  my  prayer  accepted  be. 


40 


HYMN. 

Let  the  name  of  my  Father  be  proudly 
adored, 
Let  the  song  of  his  praise  rise  victo- 
rious and  free  ; 

The    cup    of   salvation    has    freely   been 
poured 
By  the  Saviour  who  purchased  redemp- 
tion for  me. 

Down,    dowrn,  my  proud    heart,    a  song 
raised  to  heaven 


11 

But  a  trifling  mite  in  the  balance  will  be. 
Think'st  thou  thus  to  repay  the  God 
who  has  given 
A  Saviour  to  bleed  and  to  suffer  for  thee  ? 

Yet  swell  forth  my  song,  let  my  Father 
be  praised, 
Though  poor  and  unfitting  my  worship 
may  be  ; 
The  heart  that  is  humbly,  but  gratefully 
raised 
Will  be   blessed  by  the  Saviour,  who 
perished  for  me. 


42 


A  WALK  IN  FEBRUARY. 

See  what  a  prize  I  have  got, 
The  first  primrose  of  the  year  ! 
Not  a  snowdrop's  head, 
From  its  earthy  hed, 
Has  ventured  to  appear : 
But  this,  the  fairest  of  all  wild  flowers, 

Has  hraved  the  storm  and  blast, 
And  on  the  yet  cold  wintry  scene 
Its  fragrant  beauties  cast. 


43 

Do  you  know,  mamma,  what  I  thought 
upon 

Gazing  on  its  pale  leaves  ? 
I  thought  how  pure  is  the  earliest  prayer 

A  little  infant  breathes : 
Then  I  longed,  oh  how  I  longed  to  hear 

Dear  baby's  earliest  word. 
Mamma,  do  you  think    if   it  should    be 
God, 

It  would  on  high  be  heard  ? 
Oh,  if  I  thought  so,  I  would  give 

Up  all  my  hours  of  play, 
Even  my  walks  with  you,  mamma, 

To  teach  him  how  to  say 


44 

That  single  word  :  from  his  pretty  lips 

How  sweet  the  sound  would  seem  ! 
I  wish  the  time  was  not  yet  passed 

When  God  has,  in  a  dream, 
Called  little  children  to  his  love, 

As  Samuel  of  yore, 
Training  them  up  in  sacred  paths, 

To  love  him  more  and  more. 
How  sweet  to  hear  dear  baby's  voice, 

In  accents  low  and  clear, 
Answering  to  the  call  of  God. 

K  Speak  to  me,  Lord !  I  hen*\' 


45 


THE  SABBATH. 

"  The    Lord    blessed    the    Sabbath-day,    and    hallowed 
it." — (Exodus,  xx.  2.) 

'Tis  Sabbath  night !  how  still  and  calm, 

And  perfumed  is  the  air  ! 
I  think  upon  the  Sabbath-night 

That  all  things  show  more  fair. 

The  stars  gleam  out  more  lovelily, 

And  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
Flowers  with  their  dewy  breathings  praise 

The  hand  that  made  them  bright. 


46 

The  gushing  streamlet's  murm'rrng  voice, 
Like  distant,  prayerful  sound, 

Steals,  as  in  holy  cadences, 
Along  the  hallowed  ground. 

The  music  of  the  leafy  woods 
Is  hushed  their  bowers  among, 

For  the  gay  minstrels  of  their  shades 
Their  last  good  night  have  sung. 

But  most  unto  the  human  heart 

Is  peaceful  gladness  given, 
And  Sabbath  nights  like  these  prepare 

The  Christian's  soul  for  heaven. 


47 


TO  G R . 

Alas  !  how  many  are  bending  now, 
Bathing  in  tears  some  pallid  brow  ; 
Gazing,  perchance,  on  a  cherished  face, 
Seeking  to  hold  by  love's  embrace 
The  parting  spirit  from  its  flight, 
Through  gates  of  death  to  realms  of  light ! 

Alas  !  how  many  are  gazing  now 
In  grief  upon  some  pallid  browT, 
Where  death's  cold  lip  has  lately  prest 
Its  kiss  upon  the  faithful  breast 


48 

Of  the  only  one,  perchance,  who  hath 
Shed  gleams  of  sunshine  round  their  path  ! 

Alas  !  how  many  are  writhing  now 
'Neath  the  anguished  throb  of  a  fevered 

brow, 
Loathing  the  day  for  its  sunny  light, 
Dreading  the  silence  and  gloom  of  night, 
Seeking  relief  or  release  in  vain, 
From  the  heavy  weight  of  their  aching 

pain  ! 

Alas  !  how  many  are  drooping  now 
With  famine  writ  on  their  haggard  browT ! 


49 

How  many  shrinking  forms  are  cast 
Naked,  upon  the  wintry  blast ! 
And,  oh,  how  many  are  bowed  beneath 
The  ills  that  will  not  end  in  death  ! 

But  thou,  my  boy,  I  see  thee  now, 
A  glow  upon  thy  radiant  brow 
Of  blooming  health  ;  thou  hast  not  known 
The  cry  of  pain,  the  feeble  moan ; 
Nor  shed  those  tears  that  pity  wrings 
From  the  heart  for  another's  sufferings ! 

Yes,  blessed  child  ;  all  brilliant  now 
Are  the  bright  flowrets  on  thy  brow, 


50 

By  gladness  wreathed  ;  thou  hast  not  heard 
Death  issue  forth  the  dreaded  word 
To  aught  thou  lovest ;  thou  hast  not  hent 
'Neath  the  weight  of  Heaven's  chastise- 
ment. 

Dwell  on  these  thoughts  my  child,  and  raise 
Thy  heart  to  Him  in  grateful  praise, 
Who  grants  thee  joy,  and  meekly  press 
To  thy  lips  thy  cup  of  happiness  ; 
Not  vaunting  thee  of  gladness  given, 
Not  careless  of  the  love  of  Heaven, 
Not  hoasting  freedom  from  the  rod, 
But  humhly  grateful  to  thy  God. 


51 


THE  ROMAN  MOTHER. 

In  Rome,  the  body  of  the  dead,  strewed  over  with 
flowers  and  richly  attired,  is  carried  through  the 
streets  in  an  open  bier,  and  laid  in  the  church, 
where  it  remains  till  the  appointed  hour  of  interment. 
The  following  story  is  founded  on  fact. 

On  the  Roman  city  rose  the  sun. 

And  all  looked  bright  and  smiled, 
As  a  Roman  mother  fondly  blessed 

Her  fair  and  first-born  child. 
The  sun  its  high  meridian  height 

O'er  the  Roman  city  shed, 


r.i 


When  the  Roman  mother  wildly  hung 

O'er  her  first-horn  and  her  dead. 
Prepare  the  bier,  the  flowers  prepare, 

But  bring  no  gloomy  rue  ; 
Bring  buds  of  the  brightest  gladdest  dye, 

O'er  the  sable  pall  to  strew  ; 
Bring  the  first  leaves  of  the  opening  rose, 

And,  oh,  bring  the  flowers  of  the  dead,* 
With  its  slender  stems  of  paly  green, 

To  twine  round  the  infant's  head. 


*  The  periwinkle  has  obtained  this  name  in  Italy 
and  southern  countries,  from  the  practice  of  strewing  the 
bier,  and  more  particularly  those  of  children,  with  its 
long  and  graceful  branches. 


53 

Lay  the  wild  primrose  on  his  breast, 

O'er  his  hands  wild  violets  strew ; 
Meet-offerings  they,  so  simply  drest 

In  their  vestures  of  quiet  blue. 
Prepare    the    bier    for    the    young    and 
fair, 

Take  the  child  to  its  quiet  rest ; 
For  in  St.  Mary's  church  to-night 

It  must  lie  as  for  festal  drest. 
The  child  is  borne  to  the  quiet  aisle, 

It  is  laid  by  the  altar  nowr; 
And  the  wan  light  of  the  sacred  lamp 

Shines  on  its  pallid  brow. 


54 

The  heavy  hours  of  night  are  passed ; 

The  mother,  unseen,  unknown, 
Has  sought  the  church  where  the  child 
is  laid, 

To  pray  to  her  God  alone. 
Her  falt'ring  steps  have  reached  the  door ; 

She  stands  in  the  sacred  aisle  ; 
O  God  of  Heaven,  of  life,  of  love, 

She  is  met  hy  her  infant's  smile. 
Yes  !  on  the  sable  pall,  where  late 

She  saw  her  darling  laid, 
With    flowers    that    were    to    deck     its 
grave, 

The  unconscious  infant  played. 


55 

The  mother  had  come  to  weep  and  pray, 

By  the  fair  child's  early  bier ; 
But  she  wept  and  prayed  by  his  living  side, 

And  God  received  the  tear, 
And  the  fervent  prayers  she  offered  up, 

And  the  vows  she  made  to  Heaven, 
To  consecrate  to  God  alone 

The  child  he  twice  had  given. 


56 


HYMN. 

"  1  give  myself  unto  prayer.'* — (Psalm  cix.  4.) 

Lord,  I  would  raise  my  heart  to    thee, 
In  deep  and  earnest  prayer, 

And  duly  on  my  bended  knee 
Seek  thy  protecting  care. 

I'd  come  to  thee,  thou  God  of  love, 
When  breaks  the  morning  light, 

And  I  would  raise  my  prayer  on  high 
In  the  still  hour  of  night. 


57 

I'd  bring  to  thee  a  grateful  heart, 
In  all  my  hours  of  gladness  ; 

I'd  look  to  thee  in  faith  and  trust 
Through  every  cloud  of  sadness. 

I  would,  for  every  hour  I  live, 
For  every  breath  I  breathe, 

Thank  earnestly  the  hand  from  whom 
All  mercies  I  receive. 

Lord,  I  would  spend  in  heart-felt  prayer 
The  life  that  thou  hast  given, 

Since  prayer  is  the  blest  path  by  which 
The  soul  may  enter  heaven. 


58 


THE  BROTHERS  OF  GERMANY. 

Two  youthful  wanderers  were  they  : 

They  left  their  native  land, 
Orphaned  and  pennyless,  to  range 

Together,  hand  in  hand, 
Through  a  wide  world,  that  little  cared 

How  sad  their  fate  might  be. 
Lord,  Father  of  the  fatherless  ! 

They  had  no  friend  but  thee. 


Linked  by  strong  bonds  were  they;  one  hour 
Had  smiled  upon  their  birth  ; — 


59 

Smiled,  for  their  parents  boasted  then 
Much  of  the  goods  of  earth  : 

Little,  yet  much,  for  in  their  eyes 
Their  stores  were  endless  wealth ; 

All    that    they  wished    their  hearts  pos- 
sessed, 
Contentedness  and  health. 

But  soon  an  hour  of  famine  came, 

And  sickness  followed  fast, 
Until  upon  a  heartless  world 

The  orphaned  boys  were  cast. 
They  were  thrust  forth  to  beg  their  bread  ; 

But  long  they  lingered  still, 


GO 

'Neath  the  shadow  of  their  chestnut-trees, 
Upon  the  wooded  hill. 

Hunger  they  bore,  and  sickness  too, 

To  gaze  on  their  own  sky  ; 
For  much  they  loved  their  father-land, 

Their  native  Germany. 
And  thus  passed  o'er  their  youthful  heads 

Some  weary,  struggling  years  ; 
They  counted  time  by  hours  of  joy, 

That  shone  through  months  of  tears. 

Time  passed  ;  they  left  their  native  hills 
The  sea  they  wandered  o'er, 


61 

Scarce  conscious  where  their  steps  were 
bent, 

They  stood  on  England's  shore. 
And  now,  their  lesser  wants  relieved, 

They  wandered  still  along, 
Singing  at  every  peasant's  door 

Their  own  loved  mountain  song. 

And  oft  the  peasants'  homely  meal 
The  wand'ring  minstrels  shared  ; 

And  oft  a  charitable  hand 
Fit  resting-place  prepared. 

Sut  never  yet  those  orphaned  boys 
Partook  of  frugal  fare, 


62 

Nor  slept,  till  fervently  they  raised 
Their  grateful  hearts  in  prayer. 

If  all  went  well  with  them,  they  felt 

God  had  in  mercy  staid 
Their  heavy  tide  of  griefs  :  if  ill, 

They  turned  to  him  for  aid. 
Thus  still  through  all  their  chequered  life, 

Now  gleaming  bright,  now  dim, 
They  looked  to  God  who  loveth  those 

Who  put  their  trust  in  him. 

Kindness  they  met,  but  more  of  scorn  ; 
And  the  inclement  sky 


63 

Looked  coldly  on  their  houseless  heads 

Yet  they  bore  patiently, 
Never  returning  wrathful  word, 

Or  taunt,  or  angry  look, 
While  the  mean  pittance,  gratefully. 

With  humble  hearts  they  took. 


And  soon  they  met  their  just  rewTard ; 

Though  old  and  gray-haired  now, 
They  tell  the  tale  that  I  have  told, 

While  on  each  furrowed  brow 
The  light  of  gratitude  is  set, — 

Raising  their  hearts  to  God, 


64 

They    praise     him     'mid    the    mountain 
scenes 
Their  infant  footsteps  trod. 

In  early  life  they  wandered  far  ; 

But  now,  all  •  trials  past, 
In  their  birth-place,  in  their  native  land, 

Their  anchor  they  have  cast. 
They  climb  again  its  wooded  hills, 

Gaze  on  its  brilliant  sky  ; 
They  have  regained  their  father-land 

Their  native  Germany. 


65 


HYMN. 

Another  day 

Has  passed  away, 
Darkness  is  on  the  earth ; 

Then  let  me  praise, 

The  wondrous  wavs 
Of  Him  who  gave  it  birth. 

Darkness  brings  rest 

To  the  weary  breast, 

Beneath  sorrow  bending  ; 
5 


C6 

Sleep,  for  awhile, 
Its  cherub  smile 
To  saddest  features  lending. 


And  darkness  brings 
On  healing  wings 
Sleep  to  the  throb  of  pain  ; 
Balm  infusing;, 
Health  diffusing, 
Through  each  fevered  vein, 

Darkness  calls, 
When  its  curtain  falls, 
The  labourer  to  his  rest ; 


67 

Toil  dividing, 
Sleep  providing, 
To  his  grateful  breast. 

Then  let  me  praise 

The  wondrous  ways 
Of  Him  who  gave  it  birth, 

Since  slumber  brings, 

On  blissful  wings, 
Peace  to  the  sons  of  earth. 


68 


THE  ALTAR  IN  THE  WILDER- 
NESS. 

I  wandered  'mid  a  forest  scene, 
Wide  shadows  spread  around, 

When  suddenly  my  footsteps  fell 
Upon  some  cultured  ground. 

In  scenes  uncared-for,  rude  and  wild, 

That  fairy  garden  lay, 
And  'mid  its  glowing  flowers  I  marked 

A  little  girl  at  play. 


C--J^7^ 


69 

Graceful  her  form,  her  look,  her   mien, 
As-  with  light  step  she  moved, 

Gazing  with  earnest  tenderness 
Into  each  flower  she  loved. 

But,  hush  !  a  distant  pealing  bell, 

It  is  the  call  to  prayer. 
"  Hark  !  hark  !  that  sound,"  the  fair  child 
cried  ; 

"  Alas  !  and  I  not  there." 

A  step  or  two  she  made,  then  stopped^ 
And  brushed  her  tears  away. 

"  Dear  mother,  by  thy  gentle  side 
I  may  not  kneel  to-day. 


70 

"Far  is  the  path  that  leads  to  home, 

I  cannot  reach  in  time  ; 
Never,  till  now,  I've  wished  unheard, 

That  sacred  warning  chime. 

"I  may  not  join  my  sister-hand, 
Kneel  at  mv  brother's  knee ; 

Nor  hear  my  mother's  prayerful  song 
Rise  gloriously  and  free. 

t;  But  yet  my  prayer  may  rise  with  theirs, 
With  theirs  may  swell  my  song  ; 

God  will  receive  the  sacrifice. 

Though  made  these  woods  among." 


71 

She  knelt  upon  the  dewy  grass, 
She  raised  her  pleading  eye, 

And  beautiful  and  holy  looked, 
As  a  seraph  from  the  sky. 


72 


H T'S  BIRTHDAY. 

1st    OCTOBER. 

Dear  brother,  thou  art  slumb 'ring  still, 

And  o'er  thy  curtained  eye 
How  calmly  and  how  gracefully 

Thy  peaceful  slumbers  lie. 

One  small  and  slender  hand  is  twined 
Thy  glitt'ring  curls  among  : 

Thus  cherubs  sleep,  when  angel-tones 
Their  lullabies  have  sung. 


73 

But  awake,  my  gentle  brother, 
Awake,  awake  !  and  mine 

Be  the  first  kiss  to  chase  the  sleep 
That  seals  these  lids  of  thine. 

Mine  be  the  earliest  kiss  to  chase 

This  dreamy  sleep  away, 
And  mine  the  earliest  voice  to  bless 

Thee,  on  this  happy  day. 

Oh,  every  heart  may  bless  thee, 
But  mine  the  most  of  all. 

Awake,  awake,  my  brother ! 
Arouse  thee  at  my  call ! 


74 

Let  me  tell  thee  how  I  love  thee  ! 

I  have  no  gifts  to  bring, 
Saving  the  love  thy  hand  has  nursed, 

That  knows  no  withering. 

Well  I  may  love  thee ! — I  have  cause, 

From  infancy  till  now, 
No  childish  whim  could  rouse  thy  w7rath, 

Or  cloud  for  me  thy  brow. 

Well  I  mav  love  thee  ! — I  have  cause, 

For  ever  by  my  side 
My  guardian  thou,  in  hours  of  fear, 

My  brother  and  my  guide. 


75 

Though  few  thy  sunny  years  have  been, 

They  do  not  double  mine  : 
I  would  my  guiding  hand  through  life, 

Dear  brother,  may  be  thine. 

I'll  bow  me  down  beside  thee  here, 
And  pray  that  God  may  bless, 

And  ever  guard  through  life,  thy  heart's 
Most  perfect  gentleness. 

May  he  shower  blessings  round  thy  path, 
And  shield  thy  steps  from  ill  ; 

And,  oh,  may  he  in  after  years 
Make  thee  to  love  me  still. 


76 

Then  awake,  my  gentle  brother  ! 

Awake  thee  from  thy  sleep. 
I  know  not — 'tis  a  happy  Jay — 

Yet  I  feel  as  I  could  weep. 

IVe  heard  of  those  who  wept  for  joy- 
Joyful  my  tears  may  be, 

For  I  know,  my  gentle  brother, 
God  hears  my  prayers  for  thee. 


77 


U N'S  BIRTHDAY. 

17  th    MAY. 

Once  again  the  morn  is  gleaming 

That  gave  my  brother  birth, 
And  I  see  his  dark  eyes  beaming 
With  more  than  wonted  mirth  ; 
For  every  voice  has  blessed  him. 

And  every  eye  is  love, 
And  every  lip  caressed  him  ; 
And  to  God's  throne  above 


7S 

Are  rising  earnest  tides  of  prayer, 

And  mine  amid  the  rest : 
Oh.  may  they  find  acceptance  there, 

May  my  brother's  life  be  blest. 

Blest  may  he  be — by  blooming  health, 

Unscathed  by  sorrow's  dart, 
And  long — oh,  long  possess  fhe  wealth 
Of  a  kind  and  generous  heart. 
Blest  be  he  in  those  around, 
Who  so  fondly  love  him  ; 
For,  oh,  never  yet  was  found 
A  heart  to  rank  above  him. 


79 


In  love  and  gentleness  and  truth 
And  tenderness  of  feeling, 

Lord,  make  the  promise  of  his  youth 
Perfect,  through  thy  dealing. 


so 


R N'S  BIRTHDAY. 

25th   AUGUST. 

The  morn  is  up,  I  must  awake, 
And  rise  and  kneel  to  pray, 

And  thank  the  God  whose  care  has  led 
Me  on  to  see  to-day. 

Far  in  the  soft  hlue  azure  sky 

Glitters  the  summer  sun, 
Not  yet  in  glorious  majesty 

His  yearly  course  is  run. 


81 

But  I  another  year  have  seen, 

In  summer  I  was  horn  ; 
And  now  I  hail  in  joy  the  light 

Of  this  my  natal  morn. 

For  God  has  crowned  my  life  with  bliss, 

No  sorrow  have  I  seen ; 
Like  unto  sunshine  without  shade 

My  happy  life  has  been. 

O  Lord,  my  God,  grant  me  yet  this  ; 

Hear  and  receive  my  prayer ; 
Make  'me  through  each  succeeding  year 

More  worthy  of  thy  care. 


82 


TO  R N. 

25th    AUGUST. 

"  I  will  pray  for  you  to  the  Lord."' — (Samuel,  vii.  5.) 

The  model  of  thy  little  hand 

Is  laid  before  me  now, 
And  I  turn  to  gaze  with  tearful  eye 

Upon  thy  pictured  brow. 
I  cannot  clasp  that  marble  hand, 

Encircling  it  as  thine  : 
And  those  bright  eyes  of  liquid  blue 

Send  back  no  glance  to  mine. 


S3 

Ever  till  now,  at  this  same  hour, 

Upon  this  happy  day, 
I've  chased,  with  many  a  kiss  of  love, 

Thy  rosy  sleep  away  : 
But  now  thou'rt  in  the  strangers'  land. 

And  I,  my  hlessed  boy, 
I  may  not  on  thy  natal  morn 

Wish  thee  return  of  joy. 


Not  wish  thee  a  return  of  joy  ! — 
No,  dearest  child  !  but  prayer 

May  rise  on  high,  and  thy  dear  name 
Be  fondly  whispered  there. 


84 

For  thee  there  is  an  earnest  voice 
Still  pleading  in  my  breast, 

And  if  that  voice  may  blessings  win, 
Thou  surely  shall  be  blest. 


H -'S  BIRTHDAY. 

17th    APRIL. 

Dear  baby-boy,  two  sunny  years 

Your  little  life  has  seen  ; 
Bat  like  a  dream  of  nothingness 

To  you  that  time  has  been. 

The  smiles  your  dimpled  cheeks  that  deck, 
Like  sun-beams  on  a  flower, 

And  the  tears  you  shed  are  all  forgot 
Before  the  coming  hour. 


66 

But  it  will  not  be  ever  thus  ; 

Dear  baby,  you  will  know 
The  difference  of  good  from  ill, 

Of  joyousness  from  woe. 

Bright  smiles  are  on  your  cheeks  to-day ; 

But  little  do  you  guess, 
From  laughing  eyes  around  you  now, 

Of  the  heart's  tenderness  ; 

Of  prayers  that  God  may  train  you  so, 

That  every  year  that's  past 
May  find  you  still  as  innocent, 

And  wiser  than  the  last ; 


87. 

That  he  may  guard  you  still  through  life, 
And  bless  your  blue-eyed  boy, 

That  a  fair  life  mav  win  for  him 
Eternity  of  joy. 


ss 


THE  DREAM. 

I  dreamed  that  on  a  winter's  night 

I  wandered  forth  alone, 
And,  careless  of  the  gathering  storm, 

Upon  a  cold  gray  stone 
I  sat  me  down,  too  full  of  joy 

To  heed  the  chilling  blast ; 
When,  as  I  mused,  with  trembling  step 

An  aged  father  passed. 


89 

Bent  was  his  form,  and  suddenly 

More  falt'ring  grew  his  tread  ; 
He  sank  upon  the  icy  path — 

The  gray-haired  man  was  dead. 
"Alas!"  I  cried,  "thy  life  is  past, 

Thy  sojourn  among  men  ; 
Yet    ripe   wert    thou ;    thou    must    have 
seen 

Thy  four-score  years  and  ten." 

My    dream   was    changed — I    thought    I 
stood 
'Mid  summer's  brightest  flowers, 
Where  rays  of  noon-day  pleasantly 


00 

Fell  amid  shady  bowers. 
Upon  a  bank  of  richest  green 

A  slender  form  reclined  ; 
Deeply  but  gracefully  with  thought 

Her  youthful  brow  was  lined. 

And  with  a  glad  yet  pensive  grace, 

Her  dark  and  loving  eye 
Followed,  with  watchful  tenderness, 

Fair  forms  that  flitted  by  : 
Her  children  they — with  the  bright  flowers 

The  lovely  infants  vied  ; 
So  thought  she.  and  she  brighty  smiled — 

But  as  I  gazed,  she  died. 


91 

Agiin  my  dream  was  changed — I  played 

'Mid  early  flowers  of  spring, 
At  opening  day,  with  a  little  child, 

A  gay  and  gladsome  thing. 
We  sported  with  a  glittering  fount, 

That  high  its  treasures  threw  ; 
We  crowned  his  infant  hrow  with  flowers. 

Still  wet  with  morning  dew. 

Joy  sparkled  in  his  liquid  eye, 
His  laugh  rang  loud  and  light; 

No  pebble  on  the  fair  child's  path 
But  offered  new  delight : 

I  listened  to  that  ringing  laugh, 


92 

Gazed  on  that  happy  eye — 
I  saw  the  fair  child  suddenly 
Bow  dowrn  his  head  and  die. 

Then,  starting  from  that  fearful  dream, 

i:  Save,  save,"  I  cried,  "  the  child  !" — 
I  looked  around,  'twas  summer's  morn, 

All  nature  calmly  Ismiled. 
My  God,  and  wras  that  vision  sent, 

Like  dream  of  holy  breath, 
To  teach  my  over  careless  heart, 

That  'mid  our  life  is  death  ? 

Not  in  my  dream  alone  his  dart 
Strikes  down  the  young  and  fair  ; 


y3 

The  church-yard's  graves  are  numerous 
Age,  childhood,  youth  are  there. 

Not  at  a  stated  hour  the  hand 
Of  death  its  bolt  lets  fall  : 

Lord,  through  thy  mercy  render  me 
More  fitted  for  his  call. 


94 


HYMN. 

"  Turn  thou  me  and  I  shall  be  turned." 
(Jeremiah,  xxxi.  18.) 

Lord,  save  me  !  was  a  sinner's  cry, 
And  well  may  it  be~  mine  ; 

Lord,  I  have  erred — each  hour  I  err, 
Against  thy  hand  divine. 

Thankless — ungrateful,  I  have  been 
For  all  thy  works  of  love  ; 

O  Lord,  almighty  God  of  grace, 
Raise,  raise  my  heart  above. 


95 

Thou  whose  almighty  word  could   calm 

The  raging  of  the  sea, 
Calm  all  my  evil  passions,  Lord, 

And  turn  my  heart  to  thee. 

Thou  whose  all  blessed  word  could  change 

The  water  into  wine, 
Oh  change  my  sinful  waywardness, 

And  make  me  wholly  thine  ! 

Thou  who  hast  stood  beside  the  grave, 

And  bade  it  yield  its  dead, 
Oh  make  my  stubborn,  stony  heart 

More  willing  to  be  led  ! 


96 

Thou  who  hast  made  the  lame  to  walk, 
And  caused  the  Wind  to  see, 

Lord,  Lord,  send  forth  thy  mighty  word, 
And  turn  my  soul  to  thee. 


97 


HYMN. 

-  "  There  is  none  other  name  under  Heaven  given 
among  men,  whereby  we  may  be  saved." — (Acts, 
iv.  12.) 

"  Dear  mother,  speak  to  me,  I  pray, 

Tell  me  of  heaven's  bliss  ; 
'Tis  a  world  far  more  beautiful, 

I've  heard  you  say,  than  this. 

"  You  tell  me  too,  straight  is  the  path 
And  narrow  is  the  way  ; 


98 

How  may  a  little  infant  climb, 
Dear  mother,  kindly  say  ? 

"  Must  I  lay  evil  thoughts  aside. 

And  meek  and  gentle  be  ? 
Tell  me,  dear  mother,  will  this  gain 

A  place  in  heaven  for  me  ? 

"  And  must  I  read  his  sacred  book, 
Obey  each  high  command  ; 

Must  I  in  humble  patience  take 
All  chastening  at  his  hand  ?" 

"  Yes,  dearest  one,  all  this  and  more 
We  each  alike  must  do  ; 


99 

You  must  have  faith  in  Christ,  dear  child, 
Who  gave  his  life  for  you. 

You  must  believe  that  in  his  blood 
Your  sins  are  washed  away  : 

High  was  the  ransom,  great  the  love, 
That  could  such  ransom  pay. 

"  In  Christ,  the  blessed  Son  of  God, 

Secure  thy  faith  must  be  ; 
For  this  alone,  dear  child,  can  gain 

A  place  in  Heaven  for  thee." 


100 


PRAYER  FOR  BELIEF. 

"  Lord  I  believe  ;  help  thou  mine  unbelief." 
(Mark,  ix.  24.) 

By  thine  own  blessed,  glorious  name, 
Thy  mercies'  never-waning  flame  ; 
The  life  I  at  thy  hand  receive, 
Lord,  Father,  teach  me  to  believe  ! 
By  all  thy  gifts  of  wondrous  love, 
Thy  endless  realms  of  bliss  above, 
Thy  power  in  Heaven,  in  earth  beneath, 
Christ  Jesus,  strengthen  my  belief! 


101 


THE  FIRST  GRIEF. 

"  Behold    I  take  away  from  thee  the  desire  of  thine 
eyes  with  a  stroke." — (Ezekiel,  xxiv.   16.) 

*  *  *  'Twas    not   the  wonted  hour  of 

prayer, 
Though  the  hushed  chamber  lay  in  still 

repose, 
And    young    glad   hearts   were    meekly 

bending  there, 


102 

Worshipping  silently ;  save  when  at  times 
arose 

A  whispered  murmur  as  some  heart  ex- 
pressed 

Deep  yearning  hopes,  that  might  not  be 
represt : 

It  was  a  sight  to  gaze  on — parent  and 
child 

Were  bowed  together  there  before  their 
God, 

Fervent  and  full  their  hearts  looked  up 
to  Heaven. 

Not  yet  with  sudden  stroke  the  chasten- 
ing rod, 


103 

Of    Him    who    seeks    not    willingly    to 

wound, 
Had    blighted    their    young    hopes,   nor 

time  entombed 
The    love   that   strengthening   still  from 

childhood's  hour, 
Knit  them  together.     Fortune  had  set 
Her   seal   on   them,'  and   with    unfading 

flowers 
Had   strewed    their  path  —  gladness    had 

followed  them, 
Even    through   long   years  !     and  now — 

their  cup  o'erflowed. 


104 

But,  hark  !    a  sound,  a  voice,  the  voice  of 
prayer  : — 

List !  'tis  a  father  speaks,  with  hands  up- 
raised : — 

Well  do  such  scenes  become  his  silvered 
hair 

And  voice  all  tremulous — "  Let  God  be 
praised, 

Our  wanderer  will  return  !  Great  thanks 
be  given 

To  the  all-merciful,  the  God  of  Heaven." 

His    voice    is    stayed    by  tears,    tears   of 
most  heartfelt  joy, 


105 

And  a  fond  mother's  love  burst  forth — 
"  My  boy,  my  boy  !" 

Hear,  O  my  God  !  grant  yet  one  blessing 
more, 

To  those  already  to  thy  handmaid  given ; 

Though  years  of  lengthened  hope  have 
wandered  o'er, 

Since  last  I  gazed  upon  the  placid  heaven 

Of  his  blue  eye,  bring  me  my  boy  un- 
changed, 

Glad,  joyous,  free,  as  when  his  light 
step  ranged 

His  childhood's  home.  Bear  him  along 
the  wave 


106 

Triumphant,  as  I've  seen  his  strong  arm 

brave 
The  deep  blue  waters  of  the  lake,  that 

gave 
Back   the   dear   image   of    his    youthful 

brow. 
My    own  !     my   beautiful !     I   see   thee 

now. 
In    memory's    eye.  all    diamond-like,  the 

spray 
Clinging  to  thy  bright  curls,  till  dashed 

away 
With    hasty  gesture.     Oh  the  deep  love 

that  lav 


107 

Shrined  in  his  heart !    the  joyous  voice. 

the  tone, 
The  music  of  his  laughter,  all  in  one 
Deep  gush  of  tenderness,  returns,  and  i. 
O'erwhelmed,  raise   a  grateful   heart   on 

high, 
And  thanked  the  good  and  gracious  God 

of  heaven 
For   all   the    blissful    hopes   that  he  has 

given. 

Then    rose  a   young  and    gentle    sister's 

voice, 
Let  me,  O  Lord,  in  humbleness  rejoice, 


108 

Over  his  blest  return  :  rny  friend,  my 
guide  ! 

What !  in  the  scenes  he  loved,  by  his 
dear  side, 

Shall  I  go  forth  to  wander,  as  of  yore  ? 

Shall  his  kind  words,  again  shed  sun- 
shine o'er 

Each  passing  hour  ? — Oh  !  will  he  love 
me  yet  ? 

Shall  I  my  weakness  in  his  strength 
forget, 

Or  prize  that  weakness  which  still  holds 
him  near, 

To  guide  my  footsteps  or  to  chide  my  fear. 


109 

She    bowed   her   gentle   head    upon   her 

breast, 
And  in  her  silent  heart  she  breathed  the 

rest 
Of  her  fond   prayer. — Then   childhood's 

voice  arose, 
And  like  the  first  unfolding  of  the  rose, 
Their  ruby  lips  breathed  forth  a  brother's 

name  : 
Though  unremembered,  o'er  their  brows 

there  came 
A  sudden  light  of  joy,  and  hands  were 

raised, 
And  infant  lips  the  God  of  Heaven  praised, 


110 

Then    innocently    glad,    they    rose    from 

prayer, 
And  each  went    forth  their  joyous  tasks 

to  share. — 
His  room,  his  books,  the  walk  he  called 

his  own, 
The  dog  he  loved,  even  the  cold  gray  stone 
On   which   his   name  was    carved,    with 

choicest  flowers 
Was  richly  garlanded.    The  happy  hours 
Passed  on  in  works  of  love. — He    must 

be  near ; 
There  was  no  thought  but  joy,  no  throb 

of  fear  : 


Ill 

When,    hark  !    a  step,  a  sudden    cry  of 

dread  ; — 
He,  the  beloved,  the  expected  one  was  dead. 
Yes  !    he  had  scaped   the  bloody  battle's 

plain, 
Had  buffeted  unharmed  the  stormy  main, 
But  in  his  early  life's  most  sunny  hour 
Had    faded,    like   the   snow-drop's    early 

flower, 
That  droops  not  'mid  the  chilling  breath 

of  spring, 
But  'neath  a  summer  sun  lies  withering. 
Their  sun  wras  set-— the  sun  that  rose  for 

years 


112 

For  them  so  joyously,  was  set  in  tears : 
They  turned    from    thoughts    of  joy,  to 

thoughts  of  God, 
And  humbly  bent  to  kiss  the  chastening 

rod. 
They  had   prayed  fervently  in  joy  : — in 

grief, 
Again    they  bent  in    prayer,  and    found 

relief. 


113 


HYMN. 

Another  day  of  life  and  light 

Is  given  from  above ; 
O  God,  how  beautiful  and  bright 

Are  all  thy  works  of  love  ! 

Another  night  of  peaceful  rest 

The  Lord  my  God  has  given, 
To  one  whom  he  has  ever  blessed 

With  happiness  from  heaven. 

8 


114 

Food,  warmth,  and  raiment  he  bestows 

On  his  poor  child  of  clay  ; 
Parents  who  soothe  his  infant  woes, 

And  kiss  his  tears  away. 

Boundless,  my  God,  thy  gifts  have  been, 
Boundless  thy  gifts  shall  be  ; 

Ear  hath  not  heard,  eye  hath  not  seen 
The  joys  that  compass  thee. 

How  great  soe'er  thy  mercies  are, 
Here  to  thy  children  given, 

More  great,  and,  oh  !  more  wondrous  far, 
Are  those  prepared  in  heaven. 


115 


HYMN. 

Oh  !  dark  and  rude  mysterious  storm, 

Expend  thy  fatal  rage  ! 
How  many  names  may  this  dread  night 

Have  written  on  death's  page  ! 

How  many  houseless  wanderers, 

'Neath  the  inclement  sky, 
Touched  inly  by  thy  icy  breath, 

Have  laid  them  down  to  die. 


116 

How  many  on  the  rolling  sea 
Have  sunk  beneath  the  wave  ! 

Lord,  where  was  then  thy  powerful  hand, 
Omnipotent  to  save  ? 

What,  shall  I  question  of  thy  way, 

Or  thou  thy  purpose  tell  ? 
No,  Lord,  whate'er  thy  hand  has  done, 

I  know  that  it  is  well. 

Yet  may  I  humbly  pray  for  those, 
Meeting  the  storm's  rude  breath  ; 

Lord,  be  with  them  in  mighty  power, 
Whether  for  life  or  death. 


117 

THE  HOLY  CHILD  OF  WEST- 
MINSTER ABBEY. 

Ann,  third  daughter  of  Charles  I.,  died  in  her  infancy, 
when  not  full  four  years  old.  Being  minded  by  those 
about  her  to  call  upon  God,  even  when  the  pangs  of 
death  were  upon  her,  "  I  am  not  able,"  saith  she, 
"  to  say  my  long  prayer,"  meaning  the  Lord's  prayer, 
"  but  I  will  say  my  short  one  : — Lighten  mine  eyes, 
O  Lord,  lest  I  sleep  the  sleep  of  death."  This  done,  the 
little  lamb  gave  up  the  ghost. — (England's  Worthies.) 

BOY. 

Mamma,  we  must  tread  softly  here, 
For  graves  are  scattered  round  ; 

And  speak  in  whispers  faint  and  low, 
For  this  is  holy  ground. 


US 

Come  with  me  ;  look  at  yonder  tomb, 

Say  who  is  buried  there  ? 
Its  marble  walls  and  sculptured  flowers 

Methinks  show  wondrous  fair. 

Perhaps  some  learned  man  is  laid 

Beneath  its  arch  to  rest, 
Or  chance  some  warrior,  who  has  died 

With  his  colours  on  his  breast ; 
Giving  his  heart's  most  noble  blood 

His  native  land  to  save  ; 
Ah,  no  !  now  that  I  see  it  near, 

It  is  a  baby's  grave. 
Tell  me.  mamma,  what  little  child 


119 

Lies  in  such  stately  gloom  ; 
And  see,  a  crown  and  sceptre  too 

Are  sculptured  on  the  tomb  : 
But  what  is  this  ?  ah  !  see,  mamma, 

An  open  Bible  there  ; 
And  here  a  little  infant  kneels, 

In  meek  and  humble  prayer. 

I  wish  I  knew  if  this  fair  tomb 
Is  raised  in  empty  pride, 

In  memory  of  some  royal  babe, 
Who  has  in  childhood  died  : 

Or  if  its  marble  walls  display 
A  sculptured  tale  of  truth  ; 


120 

And  that  the  holy  infant  gave, 

In  the  spring-time  of  its  youth, 
Its  heart  to  God. 

MOTHER. 

Both,  dearest  child,  of  high  descent 

That  little  infant  came  ; 
And  see,  in  characters  of  old 

You  yet  may  read  her  name  : 
"Ann,  England's  Princess,"  not  alone 

Famed  for  her  lofty  birth  ; 
Though  few  her  years,  the  infant  walked 

A  little  saint  on  earth. 


121 


HYMN. 

The  God  of  all  that's  great  and  good, 
Upon  the  cross  of  anguish  died  ; 

A  wreath  of  thorns  upon  his  head, 
A  spear-wound  in  his  side. 

And  scornful  sinners  standing  round, 
In  wrath  the  Son  of  God  reviled  ; 

While  he  their  wicked  taunts  received, 
Meek  as  a  patient  child. 


12  2 

Why  did  he  bleed  and  suffer  thus  ? 

Was  it  to  gain  a  throne  on  high  ? 
No,  it  was  that  a  sinful  race 

Might  not  for  ever  die. 

A  throne,  a  Father's  throne  was  his 
Yet  those  blessed  realms  of  day 

He  left,  that  blood  and  suffering 
Might  wash  our  sins  away. 

For  us  he  left  his  home  above, 
For  us  he  wandered  here  below, 

And  patiently  and  meekly  drained 
The  bitter  cup  of  woe. 


123 

He  suffered  that  we  might  be  blessed, 
He  gave  his  precious  life  for  ours  ; 

He  trod  a  weary  path  of  thorns, 
That  we  might  tread  on  flowers. 

Blest  Saviour  !  all  he  asks  from  us, 
For  all  that  he  for  us  has  done, 

Is  "  come  to  me,  and  be  ye  saved, 
Give  me  thy  heart,  my  son." 


124 


HYMN. 

"  After  he  had  patiently  endured,  he  obtained  the 
promise." — (Heb.  vi.  15.) 

List  to  the  sound  he  loved  so  well, 
But  never  more  shall  hear  ; 

It  is  the  church's  pealing  bell, 
That  falls  upon  the  ear. 

Ever  on  Sabbath  morn  he  came, 
With  tott'ring  steps  and  slow, 

To  worship  God's  immortal  name, 
In  his  temple  here  below. 


125 

In  the  church-yard  he'd  linger  still, 

To  gaze  upon  each  stone  ; 
In  youth  he  drained  the  cup  of  ill, 

In  age  he  stood  alone. 

And  as  he  sought  the  sacred  part, 
Where  humblest  graves  are  found, 

Tears  from  his  widowed,  childless  heart 
Fell  on  the  hallowed  ground. 

Four  stately  sons  lay  slumb'ring  there, 
The  old  man's  joy  and  pride  ; 

And  there  the  partner  of  his  youth 
Was  laid  their  graves  beside. 


126 
i 

Through  many  years  his  trembling  feet 

Sought  out  the  house  of  prayer  ; 
But  vacant  now  his  humble  seat, 
A  stranger's  form  is  there. 

Gladly  in  trusting  hope  he  slept, 

Gladly  he  went  to  rest  ; 
To  those  who    through  long   years  have 
wept, 

A  righteous  death  is  blest. 


127 


THE  SISTERS  LAMENT. 

Dear  baby,  thou  art  passed  away, 
From  the  gay  and  gladsome  earth  ; 

Oh  !  short  has  been  thy  sunny  day  ; 
The  spring  that  hailed  thy  birth, 

And  twined  her  flowers  to  deck  thy  head, 

Strewing  them  o'er  thy  cradled  bed, 

Hath  faded  into  autumn  now, 

And  the  pale  cypress  wreaths  thy  brow ; 

Dear  baby,  thou  wert  bright  and  fair, 

With  thy  sunny  eyes  and  thy  golden  hair, 


128 

And  thy  dimpled  hands,  and  thy  cherub 

smile  ; 
But  thou  art  fairer  now  the  while  ; 
For  thy  blue  eye  in  heaven  is  gleaming 

bright, 
And  thy  soft   locks  shine  with  a  richer 

light, 

And    the    snowy    calm    of    thy    infant 

brow 
Is  crowned  with  a  halo  of  glory  now, 
And    thy  young,  soft  voice,  like  a  clear 

bell  rings, 
As  the  sweet    song  of   heaven  it    gladly 

sings  ; 


129 

Pouring  forth  honour,  and  glory,  and 
love, 

To  Him  who  reigns  in  the  realms  above  ! 

To  Him  who  hath  ta'en  thee  from  earth  to 
heaven, 

And  washed  thy  soul  from  its  earthly 
leaven 

In  the  fount  that  flowed  from  thy  Sa- 
viour's side, 

When  for  thee  on  the  cross  he  bled  and 
died. 

And,  baby,  now  to  that  holy  breast 

Thou  hast  flown  and  found  there  shel- 
tering rest ; 


130 


And  from  thence  we  would  not  have  thee 

back, 
Though  lonely  we  wander  the  weary  track. 
That  our  bleeding  feet  must  travel  o'er, 
Ere  we  shall  meet  thee,  to  part  no  more  : 
Ere  we,  like  thee,  shall  gladly  rest 
Our  weary  heads  on  a  Saviour's  breast, 
Ere  we  shall  join  in  the  songs  of  love, 
That  sound  through  the  realms  of  light 

above. 
Farewrell    to    thee,  baby  ! — a    long    fare- 
well ! 
Lo  !  'tis  the  wail  of  the  funeral  bell. 
Beautiful  child,  they  bear  thee  away, 


131 

To  thy  narrow  bed,  'neath  the  damp,  cold 

clay  ; 
But  thy  spirit,  dear  baby,  has  winged  its 

flight 
To   the  God   of  love,  on   his  throne  of 

light ; 
And    thy  soul    is    at    rest    through    the 

coming  years 
That    we,    dear    baby,    must    walk    in 

tears. 


13<2 


TO  G R . 

All  slowly  and  sadly  the  night  passed  on, 
Sleep  would  not  come  at  my  call ; 

For  pain  had  banished  the  peaceful  rest, 
Was  wont  on  my  lids  to  fall. 

I  sought  it  by  many  a  powerful  spell, 
Which  had  used,  in  other  years, 

To  stay,  in  the  height  of  my  childish  ills, 
The  fountain  of  mv  tears. 


133 

But  I  turned  in  vain  on  my  fevered  side, 
To  gaze  on  the  pale  moon-light, 

And  to  watch  the  silvery  heams  that  shone 
On  the  distant  snow-clad  height. 

Now  I  trod  o'er  faithful  memory's  plains, 
And  gazed  on  the  cherished  past ; 

Now  I  sought  with  a  daring  hand  to  raise 
Veils  o'er  the  future  cast. 

And  each  seemed  formed  but  to  chase  away 
The  sleep  I  so  envied  now, 

And  to  press  a  heavier  weight  of  pain 
Upon  my  aching  brow. 


134 


Then  I  thought  of  thee,  dear  gentle  chila, 

And  soothing  tears  I  wept. 
And  calmness  stealing  o'er  my  breast. 

I  blessed  thy  name  and  slept. 


135 


A  FRAGMENT. 

"  Out  of   the   mouth  of  babes  and   sucklings  thou    hast 
ordained  strength. " — (Psalm  viii.  2.  v.) 

Look  at  that  aged  man,  with  silvered 
hair, 

See,  his  hand  trembles,  while  with  grate- 
ful care 

And  meek  devotion  in  his  earnest 
look, 

He  turns  the  sacred  page  of  God's  own 
book, 


136 

His    story    I    will    tell, — 'tis    short. — He 

grew 
From   youth  to  manhood,  and   he  never 

knew 
The  word  of  God ;  for  no  fond  parent's 

care 
Had    taught    his    infant  lips    the  use  of 

prayer  : 
Age  followed  soon  on  youth — and    then 

he  felt 
"  'Tis    now  too  late    to   kneel ;    I  never 

knelt, 
To  God  —  I  never  learned   in    youth  to 

how 


137 
The    knee    to    him :    He  will    not   hear 


me  now." 


With  thoughts  like  these  he  tried  to  still 

the  fear 
That   rose    before   him   each   succeeding 

year, 
More     forcibly  :  —  for    every    day    that 

past, 
Brought  him,  still  unprepared,  more  near 

his  last  : 
Yet  though  he  feared,  he  sought  not  to 

amend 
His    evil    way :     but    God    will    mercy 

send, 


138 


E'en  to  the  thankless  ;  such  his  love  to 

save, 
That  gentlest  pity  he  will  often  have, 
On    those   who    never  come    to    ask    in 

prayer 
A  father's  love,  or  tenderness,  or  care  : 
So  'twas  with  this  old  man. — One  sunny 

dav, 
Chilly  though    bright,    for    it  was    early 

May, 
A    young   fair    child,  whose    holy    brow 

exprest 
That  hope  and  love  were  inmates  of  his 

breast, 


139 

Within    the    depth    of  whose    dark    eye 

there  lay, 
Rich     promises    of     manhood's     coming 

day; 
The  tones  of  whose  sweet  voice  were  low 

and  clear, 
Like  distant  music. — chanced  to  wander 

near  : 
He  saw  that  gray-haired  man,  and  heard 

him  speak 
Such    wicked    words,    as    blanched    h's 

youthful  cheek  : 
"  Stop,  stop  !"  he  cried  ;  •-"  Oh,  speak  not 

so  again. 


140 

Each  word  you  utter  gives  your  Saviour 

pain, 
Through  your  long  life,  you  must  have 

read  with  care 
The  book  of  God — and  seen  "  Thou  shalt 

not  swear  ;" 
The  old    man  listened    sullen,  and    then 

said, 
"The    book  of   God — I    never   yet  have 

read  ; 
I    do  not    know  his  word — 'tis  now  too 

late, 
I  am  grown  old  in  sin. — 'Twas  not  my 

fate 


141 

To  love  him  in  my  youth,  and  now,  when 

gray 
With  age  and  pain,  it  is  too  late  to  pray." 
"  Too  late  to  pray  !"  the  child  exclaimed  ; 

"  ah  no  I 
'Tis  not  too  late  to  pray. — I  will  not  go, 
Till    here,    e'en    here,  beneath    his  own 

bright  sky, 
You  bow  the  knee,  and  raise  your  voice 

on  high, 
Asking  forgiveness.     Then,  for  the  dear 

sake 
Of   him,    your    Lord    and    Saviour,  who 

could  make 


142 

So  great  a  sacrifice  for  us,  and  die 
Upon  the  cross  in  tears  and  agony. 
Go  now  !   within  your  silent  house,  and 

look 
Into  the  sacred  pages  of  his  hook, 
And    read    in  sorrow  and    in    trembling 

there, 
The  fate  that  God  has  doomed  for  those 

who  swear." 
Trembling,  the  old  man  said,  "  I  cannot 

read  ; 
Nothing  I  know  of  Gospel  or  of  Creed ; 
Of     his    commandments     nought  —  and 

nought  of  heaven." 


143 

"  'Tis   not  too  late.  —  O  God,  to  me  be 

given" — 
The   child    exclaimed,  raising  his    gentle 

eye, 
Replete   with   holy  love,  —  "to    lead    on 

high, 
E'en    to    thy   throne,   thou    Saviour    of 

mankind, 
An    erring   heart,  where   it  may  pardon 

find." 
His   prayer   was    heard  ;     and    now    day 

after  day, 
That    little    child    stole    from    his    home 

away  : 


144 

And  by  that  old  man's  side,  with  patient 

care 
He  heard  him  con  his  lesson  o'er  ;    and 

there 
He  might  be  seen,  with  seraph  brow  and 

look. 
And  eager  finger,  leaning  o'er  the  book 
Of  God — pointing  out  line  by  line,  and 

word 
Easy  and  simple,  till  with  joy  he  heard 
His  aged  pupil  read,  without  his  aid, 
The    ten    commandments    that   his    God 

had  made  ; 


145 

While  after  each,  he  heard  him  breathe 

a  prayer 
That  he  might  follow  each  with  fervent 

care  : 
And  now  that  gentle  child  sees  him  each 

day 
Read    from   the  book  of  life,  and    hears 

him  pray 
To  his  Redeemer.         *         *         * 


10 


146 


HYMN. 

"  Jesus  said,  this  sickness  is  not  unto  death." — 
(John,  xi.  4.) 

I  will  not  leave  my  sister's  side, 
I  love  to  watch  her  sleep  ; 

Calm,  placid,  are  her  slumbers  now, 
Dear  mother,  wherefore  weep  ! 

An  hour  ago  the  fever's  height 
Raged  on  her  aching  brow  ; 

But  see  with  what  a  holy  peace 
Slumber  has  crowned  it  now  ! 


147 

They  said  that  if  she  calmly  slept 

The  crisis  would  be  past ; 
Dear  mother,  see,  she  calmly  sleeps  ; 

Let  that  tear  be  thy  last. 

God,  who  has  heard  our  fervent  prayer, 

My  sister's  health  restored  ; 
Oh  may  his  arm  so  strong  to  save, 

Be  evermore  adored. 

I'll  lay  me  on  her  pillow  now, 
And  raise  my  heart  in  prayer ; 

Thus  when  this  blessed  sleep  is  o'er, 
She'll  wake  and  find  me  there. 


148 

Then  frst  on  me  will  turn  her  eye, 
On  me  her  first  pure  breath  ; 

Lord  God,  I  bless  thee !  thou  hast  raised 
My  sister  up  from  death. 


149 


HYMN. 

My  mother's  voice  falls  on  mine  ear, 

Like  to  a  crystal  bell, 
When  she  bids  Heaven  bless  her  child, 

And  shield  and  guard  him  well. 

My  mother's  voice  is  soft  and  low, 
Like  breath  of  flowers  in  spring ; 

When  joining  in  the  evening  song, 
Our  infant  voices  sing. 


150 

My  mother's  voice  like  music  falls 

Upon  my  gladdened  ear, 
When  'mid  our  childish  merriment 

Her  laugh  rings  sweet  and  clear. 

My  mother's  voice  is  sad  and  low. 
Like  whisperings  of  distress, 

When  she  is  forced  some  fault  to  chid£, 
Or  blame  our  waywardness. 

But,  oh  the  clear-voiced  crystal  bell 
Such  music  ne'er  has  given, 

As  that  her  hallowed  lips  let  fall 
Whene'er  she  speaks  of  heaven  ! 


151 

And  the  sweet  breath  of  early  flowers 
Ne'er  with  such  sweetness  came, 

As  wrhen  her  accents  gently  breathe 
Our  Saviour's  blessed  name. 


152 


THE  ORPHANS. 


Leave    thy  fatherless    children,  I   will  preserve   them 
alive." — (Jeremiah,  xlix.  11.) 


CHILD. 

Poor  pretty  babies  !    why  mamma 
Do  they  wear  that  garb  of  woe  ? 

Why  do  they  look  so  sorrowful  ? 
I  saw  their  soft  eyes  flow. 

All  o'er  with  tears — they  will  not  smile, 
Or  join  us  in  our  play  ; 


15J 

We  ask  them  !  but  they  only  turn 
More  sorrowful  away. 

MOTHER. 

Dear  child,  these  pretty  babies  wear 

The  garb  and  look  of  woe, 
Because  their  gentle  mother  sleeps 

The  cold  blue  wraves  below. 
No  daisied  turf  is  made  her  bed, 

No  flowers  are  planted  round, 
But  the  wild  waves  above  her  dash, 

With  loud  and  moaning  sound. 
They  passed  from  India's  shores  with  her, 

Across  the  boundless  sea ; 


154 

But  by  her  side  the  stormy  wave 

They  rode  all  fearlessly  : — 
The  tempest  raged,  the  winds  blew  high, 

The  shattered  sail  was  torn  ; 
And  on  its  dangerous  track  the  ship 

In  helplessness  was  borne. 

Then  rose  the  voice  of  prayer  on  high, 
And  the  fond  mother  stood, 

Folding  her  babies  to  her  breast, 
Amid  the  raging  flood  : 

The  storm  was  hushed,  the  winds  were 
lulled, 
She  thought  the  danger  past ; 


155 

But  death  rides  on  the  calmest  breeze, 
As  on  the  roughest  blast. 

The  gentle  mother  who  had  stood 

Unharmed,  amid  the  roar 
Of  tempest — suddenly  had  sunk, 

When  these  rude  winds  were  o'er  : 
The  word  of  God  went  forth,  and  she 

Must  bow  her  down  to  die  ; 
Sure  was  her  trust  in  Heaven,  but  deep 

Her  parting  agony. 

For  these  fair  children  wildly  hung 
Around  her  still,  and  prest 


156 

Their  balmy,  cherub  lips  to  hers, 

Or  sunk  upon  her  breast, 
Praying  she  would  not  leave  them  yet, 

Alone  on  the  deep  sea  ; 
Oh,  what  a  sad  and  harrowing  sight 

Must  such  a  death-scene  be  ! 

CHILD. 

Alas,  mamma,  no  wonder  then 
Their  pretty  cheeks  are  pale  ; 

I  thought  not,  when  I  asked   the  cause, 
To  hear  so  sad  a  tale. 

Poor  babies,  left  without  a  friend, 
How  sad  their  lot  must  be  ! 


157 

Have    they    none    to    love    them,    dear 
mamma  ; — 
Their  father — where  is  he  ? 

MOTHER. 

Yes,  dearest  child,  they  have  a  Friend, 

One  who  will  not  forget. 
Though  their  father  in  a  foreign  land 

Lingers  an  exile  yet : 
Still  there  is  One  who  loves  them  well, — 

Thou  canst  not  think  that  He, 
Without  whose  will  no  sparrow  falls, 

Indifferent  will  be 


158 

Unto  a  lot  so  sad  as  theirs  : 

\    No,  He  has  seen  their  tears, 

Has  heard  them  lisp  their  fervent  prayers, 

Has  marked  their  rising  fears  : 
And  well  thou  knowest,  His  blessed  word 

All  steadfast  is  and  sure  : 
He  is  the  orphans'  hope  and  stay, 

In  Him  they  stand  secure. 


159 


HYMN. 

"  Christ  died  for  us." — (Romans,  v.  5.) 

My  God,  thou  canst  my  conscience  make 

As  clear  as  the  noon-day  ; 
And  in  the  blessed  blood  of  Christ 

Wash  all  my  sins  away  ! 

Make  me,  in  mercy,  Lord  my  God, 
More  worthy  of  this  grace  ; 

That  I  may  meet  in  hope — not  fear, 
My  Maker  face  to  face. 


1G0 

Make  me  to  cling  in  gratitude 
And  gladness  to  the  thought — 

Thy  blessed  Son  upon  the  cross, 
Has  my  redemption  bought. 

Though  nought  my  own  good  works  may  be, 

In  him  I  stand  secure  ; 
I  look  but  to  the  cross  of  Christ, 

And  my  salvation's  sure. 

I  ask  for  mercies  at  his  hand, 
And  mercies  shall  be  given  : 

I  rise  upon  his  boundless  love, 
Up  to  the  gates  of  heaven. 


161 

His  care  at  God's  right  hand  above 

Prepares  a  place  for  me  ; 
His  name— the  name  of  Jesus  Christ, 

Shall  my  salvation  be. 


II 


162 


THE  SAILOR  BOY. 

"Mother,    dear    mother,    one    blessing 
more, 
Ere  I  take  my  last  farewell  ; 
I  part  from  my  childhood's  guide  and  stay, 

And,  alas  !  what  tongue  may  tell 
If  e'er  again  mine  ear  shall  drink, 
From  those  hallowed  lips  of  thine, 
The  assurance,  worth 
All  else  on  earth, 
That  a  mother's  love  is  mine, 


163 

"  Sister,  Honora,  best  beloved  ! 

Droop  not  when  I  am  gone  ; 
Yet  sing  not  thou  thy  gladdest  song, 

Seek  not  that  bower  alone. 

We  framed  together  ;  let  it  be 
Sacred  to  my  memory. 
If  in  God's  holy  book  'tis  writ, 

We  ne'er  shall  meet  again, 
Then  shall  of  me  its  faded  boughs 

A  fitting  type  remain  : 
But  if  his  blessed  will  it  be 

That  I  return  once  more, 
Soon  shall  my  zealous  care  for  thee 

Its  leafy  shade  restore. 


164 

"  Dear  mother — sister,  gentlest  ones, 

This  grief  but  gains  in  power, 
Oh,  how  the   yearning  heart  will  cling, 

In  many  an  after  hour, 
To  thoughts  of  this  last — last  embrace  ; 

And  the  tears  ye  shed  for  me  ; 
What  balm  to  the  poor  exile's  heart 

Their  memory  will  be  !" 

The  parting  hour  is  come, — is  past, — 

He  leaves  his  father's  hall, 
He  leaves  the  home  his  childhood  loved, 

The  sacred  spot  where  all 


165 

His  best  affections  had  been  nursed. 

His  heart  and  hopes  been  raised 
Unto  the  God  whose  blessed  name 

His  infant  lips  had  praised  : 
He     leaves    his    home,    his    childhood's 
home, — 

A  mother's  voice  no  more 
May  guide  his  youthful  steps  aright, 

As  in  those  days  of  yore  : 
And  still  a  child  in  years,  he  seeks 

Alone  a  distant  shore. 

From  pole  to  pole  he  wanders  now, 
Seeks  many  a  foreign  land  ; 


166 

Now  visits  Iceland's  gloomy  shores, 

Now  India's  burning  strand  : 
Many  he  meets  of  evil  course — 

Till  now  he  never  dreamed 
That  so  much  wickedness  could  be, 

Where  only  goodness  seemed  : 
But  he  left  not  the  righteous  path, 

For  like  a  sacred  spell, 
In  each  temptation,  on  his  ear 

A  mother's  accents  fell, 
Gently  and  bland,  in  mild  reproof, 

As  if  she  watched  him  still ; 
Guarding,  tho'  thus  so  far  apart, 

Her  cherished  boy  from  ill. 


167 

While  thus  he  ranged,— within  his  home 

His  gentle  mother  dwelt, 
Wafting  full  many  a  thought  to  him, 

Or  raising,  as  she  knelt, 
His  name  to  heaven,  and  oftentimes 

Tidings  of  joy  there  came  : 
Long  pages,  writ  in  lines  of  love, 

Closed  by  the  wanderer's  name. 

Years  have  passed  on,  to   manhood    now 
The  wanderer  must  have  grown, 

And  on  Honora's  youthful  brow, 
Though  child-like  still,  is  thrown 


168 

A  deeper  shade  of  thought,  and  soon 

Dark  lines  are  written  there — 
She  trembles  for  a  brother's  life, 

She  clings  to  earnest  prayer  ; 
She  seeks  with  more  intense  desire 

The  footstool  of  her  God  ; 
She  bends  to  pray 
His  hand  to  stay, 

The  heavy  chastening  rod  : 
She  ventures  not  to  tell  her  grief, 

But  marks,  in  terror  wild, 
The  trembling  of  her  mother's  lip, 

As  she  names  her  absent  child. 


109 

Oh  silent  now  is  his  loved  home, 

Around  the  household  hearth 
Lingers  no  more  the  ringing  tones 

Of  joyousness  and  mirth  : 
And  on  his  parent's  gentle  brow, 

Such  suffering  look  is  cast, 
As  the  young  mother  sends  on  high 

When  to  her  heart  is  clasped 
The  fair  but  faded  form  of  him, 

Her  pride — her  eldest  born, 
Torn  from  her  wreathing  arms  away, 

Even  in  childhood's  morn. 
And  where  was  he — the  wanderei  ? 

While  thus  a  deep'ning  gloom 


170 

Hung  o'er  the  hearts  he  loved  the  most, — 

Was  his  a  distant  tomb  ? 
Sank  he  beneath  the  poisonous  breath, 

Of  India's  burning  sky  ; 
Or  slept  he  in  an  ocean  grave, 

Where  waves  his  lullaby 
In  loud  and  ceaseless  moaning  poured, 

Above  his  dreamless  sleep  ? 
No  !  he  had  braved  the  angry  storm, 

Had  watched  the  raging  deep, 
When  thunder  rolled,  and  the  dark  wave 

Rose  foaming,  mountain  high  : 
But    the    word    of    God   had    not    gone 
forth, 


171 

He  was  not  thus  to  die  ; 
Nor  was  he  laid  to  silent  rest 

Beneath  the  palm-tree  shade  ; 
No  stranger  hand, 
On  foreign  strand, 

His  narrow  home  had  made. 
Such  had  not  been  his  doom — but  he 

Had  found  a  living  grave, 
Within  a  dungeon's  loathsome  cell, 

(No  friendly  hand  to  save, 
No  kindly  voice  to  whisper  hope,) 

The  exiled  strippling  lay, 
Wasting  within  a  prison-walls 

His  early  life  away. 


17  2 

Was  it  this  thought  that  on  his  cheek 

Had  shed  a  hectic  hue  ? 
Was  it  this  thought  that  dimmed  and  sunk 

His  eye  of  joyous  blue  ? 
Was  it  for  self  he  pined  and  drooped, 

Within  his  silent  cell  ? 
No  !  No  ! — he  thinks  of  those  alone 

His  spirit  loves  so  well. 
He  drooped,  and  they  too  drooped  apace, 

But  hours  of  joy  are  near  : 
Oh,  never  yet  to  heartfelt  prayer 

God  turned  unwilling  ear  : 
His  prison-doors  are  opened  wide, — 

Upon  his  native  shore 


173 

He  stands,  and  with  a  grateful  heart 

Owns  all  his  sorrows  o'er. 
Within  that  home,  so  silent  late, 

A  well-known  step  is  heard, 
A  voice — a  long-lost  voice  has  sent 

One  single  cherished  word  ; 
In  gentle  whisper  through  its  halls 

Softly  and  low  it  came  ; 
But  it  fell  like  lightning  on  the  ear, 

As  it  spoke  a  mother's  name  ; 
A  sister's  too — and  quick  as  thought 

These  cherished  ones  are  prest, 
Clasped  in  affection's  long  embrace, 

Upon  the  wanderer's  breast. 


174 


TO  G R . 

"  God  had  mercy  upon  him,  and  not  on  him  only, 
but  on  me  also  ;  that  I  might  not  have  sorrow  upon 
sorrow." — (Philippians,  ii.  27.) 

My  blessed  child  !  and  I  was  far 
When  sickness  round  thee  hung, 

And  fever  on  thy  cherub  lips 
Its  baneful  influence  flung. 

I  was  not  near  to  mark  with  dread 
Thy  blooming  cheek  grow  pale, 

To  bend  in  fear  and  trembling  o'er 
Thy  melancholy  wail.  • 


175 

I  was  not  by  thy  cradled  side, 
To  soothe  thine  hours  of  pain  ; 

It  might  have  been,  my  blessed  child, 
We  ne'er  had  met  again. 

Death  might  have  tamed  that  joyous  heart, 
Have  claimed  thee  as  its  own, 

Have  sunk  thy  voice  to  whisp'rings  low, 
Then  hushed  its  gentle  tone. 

Death  might  have  pal'd  thy  dimpled  cheek, 
Have  dimmed  thy  loving  eye  ; 

For  death  still  nips  the  fairest  flowers, 
And  all  alike  may  die. 


176 

But  prayer  rose  from  thy  mother's  heart, 
And  one  that  loves  not  less  ; 

And  the  great  God  of  mercy  spared 
Our  hearts  this  bitterness. 


i:7 


HYMN. 

Jesus,  whose  blissful  home  is  heaven, 
To  wandering  on  this  earth  beneath, 

Thirty  years  of  life  has  given, 
To  fix  and  strengthen  our  belief: 

Jesus  who  laboured  thus  for  me, 

Teach  me  to  labour  unto  thee. 

Jesus  bore  upon  this  earth 

Toil  and  suffering,  grief  and  pain, 

To  secure  our  second  birth, 

Sinners  being  born  again  : 
12 


178 

Jesus  who  suffered  thus  for  me, 
Teach  me  to  endure  for  thee. 

Upon  the  cross  my  Saviour  died, 
Washing  all  my  sins  away  ; 

"It  is  finished,"  he  cried, 

Man's  redemption's  sealed  to-day. 

Jesus — Lord — who  died  for  me, 

Teach  me  how  to  live  for  thee. 


179 


SPRING. 

Hark  !  hark  !  that  sound,  'tis  the  wood- 
lark's  note, 
And  see  where  the  happy  songsters  float, 
Beating  the  air  with  their  free,  glad  wings, 
And  carolling  forth  their  welcomings 
To    early   flowers — for    the    snow-drop's 

head 
Is  rising  now  from  its  earthy  bed, 
And  the  pale  green  of  its  fairy  stem 
Is  crowned  by  a  snowy  diadem  ; 


180 

And  the  silv'ry  birch  is  bending  now. 
'Neath  weight  of  buds  on  its  slender  bough, 
And  the  hazel's  graceful  catkins  droop 
Their   feath'ry    forms    o'er    the    gushing 

brook. 
No  longer  bound  by  its  icy  chain, 
But  winding  its  glad  free  course  again, 
Through   hill  and  wood,  and  the  joyous 

earth 
Welcomes  anew  the  spring's  glad  birth  : 
Welcome,     thrice    wrelcome,    ye    sunny 

hours  ! 
Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  my  fair  wild 

flowers  ! 


1S1 

I  love  the  spring  for  the  shade  of  green 
It  casts  on  every  well-known  scene, — 
For  the  mossy  bank,  the  murm'ring  rill, 
The  music  of  the  wooded  hill ; 
But,   oh,    more    than    this,    I  love    the 

spring, 
That  it  comes  a  herald  of  glittering  wing, 
Spreading  sure  tidings,  far  and  wide, 
That  glowing  summer,  in  all  its  pride 
Of   beauty    and    richness    and    depth    of 

shade, 
By  its  heavy  masses  of  foliage  made, 
Is  near  at  hand,  to  crown  and  bless 
This  lovely  world  with  loveliness. 


1S2 


I  know  not — but  it  seems  to  me, 
As  spring  might  well  an  emblem  be 
Of  this  our  life, — aye  changing  still, 
From  sun  to  shade,  from  good  to  ill ; 
But  summer,  oh  !  summer  was  surely  given 
To  picture  forth  the  eternal  heaven  : — 
Calm,  cloudless,  of  unchequered  ray 
Is  the  sunny  light  of  a  summer's  day, 
And  the  wide  expanse  of  the  azure  sky 
Is  a  fitting  type  of  eternity  : 
Then  welcome,  bright  and  joyous  spring  ! 
Welcome  thy  certain  heralding 
Of  coming  joy,  of  buds  and  flowers, 
Of  sunny  spots,  and  shady  bowers. 


1S3 


Of  stately  trees,  in  foliaged  pride  ! 
Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  my  fair  spring- 
tide ! 
Fair  in  thyself,  but,  oh  !  brighter  far 
That  thou  art  summer's  harbinger. 


1S4 


LINES, 


ON  A  FAMILY  WHO,  IN  THE  YEAR  1826,  WERE  DROWNED 
BY  THE  RAPID  ADVANCE  OF  THE  TIDE. 

They  had  gone  forth  in  gladness  all, 
To  bathe  in  the  dark  blue  sea ; 

And  with  the  foam  of  the  rising  waves 
They  played  right  merrily. 

Little  they  dreamed  of  coming  fate  ; 

The  sea  was  calm,  the  sky 
Betokened  peace,  howr  could    they  deem 

This  was  their  hour  to  die  ? 


185 

They  were  a  gay  and  joyous  band, 
Three  little  bright-haired  girls, 

Whose  eyes  of  deep  and  lust'rous  light 
Looked  out  from  waving  curls. 

And  one  of  yet  more  tender  age, 

A  baby  young  as  fair, 
Clasped  to  a  faithful  guardian  breast, 

By  a  fond  mother's  care. 

She  bore  it  through  the  whitening  foam, 
And  smiled  to  mark  its  glee, 

As  o'er  the  waste  of  wraters  wide 
Its  eye  glanced   fearlessly. 


IS6 

Oh,  what  a  little  space  may  turn 

All  gladness  into  woe  ! 
The  angry  tide  conies  rushing  on, 

To  lay  that  bright  band  low. 

Vain,  vain  all  effort,  vain  all  haste, 

In  every  rising  wave 
Is  borne  a  call  that  summons  them, 

Each  to  a  wat'ry  grave. 

"  Save  me,  my  mother  !  save  thy  child  !" 

One  infant  voice  arose  : 
"  More  dark.  and.  oh.  more  terrible, 

The  deep'ning  water  grows  !" 


1S7 

"  Hush  !  hush  !"  a  sister's  voice  replies, 
"  Ch  add  not  grief  to  fear  ; 

Dear  mother,  see  what  God  has  sent, 
A  sheltering  place  is  near. 

"  Could  we  but  reach  that  jutting  rock, 

Safely  we  might  remain, 
Until  this  giant  strength  of  tide 

Is  carried  back  again." 


These  brief  words,  like  a  gleam  of  joy, 

Broke  in  on  her  despair  ; 
With  hurrying   step  she  gains  the  rock, 

And  lays  her  infant  there1. 


188 

Again,  again,  through  dashing  surf, 
Her  children's  side  she  seeks  : — 

O  God  !  that  cry  of  agony, 

What  thrilling  dread  it  spreads  ! 

They  had  clung  together,  hand  in  hand, 
But  waves  came  fast  and  strong  ; 

And  the  mother  sees,  while  yet  afar, 
Her  fairest  home  along. 

"  Help !  help !  oh  save  me !"  cried  the  child: 

No  mortal  hand  can  save ; 
Fast  to  the  ocean's  depths  'tis  borne, 

Upon  the  foaming  wave. 


189 

With  frantic  force  the  mother  bears 
Two  to  the  sheltering  rock  ; 

Falt'ring  more  faint  at  every  step, 
Beneath  the  billow's  shock. 

64  Spare,  spare,"  she  cried,  "  in  mercy  spare, 

My  yet  surviving  three  !" 
She  spoke  and  o'er  their  hope  and  stay 

The  wraves  dashed  furiously. 


Then  rose  the  voice  of  the  little  child, 

Whose  eager  eye  had  seen 

» 

The  only  spot  where  they  had  hoped 
That  shelter  might  have  been. 


190 

'•  Mother,  dear  mother,"  thus  she  cried, 
*     "  This  is  no  hour  for  fear  ; 
In  darkest  trials  like  to  this, 
The  hand  of  God  is  near. 

"  Amid  the  fierce  and  chilling  wave, 

His  arm  is  our  defence  ; 
Oh,  cling  no  more  to  earthly  hope, 

Turning  to  Omnipotence. 

"  One  only  thought  in  this  dark  hour 
Can  pale  my  cheek  with  dread ; — 

My  father  !  oh,  what  mighty  grief, 
Hangs  o'er  thy  cherished  head  ! 


191 

"  How  wilt  thou  bear  thy  lonely  lot, 
How  brook  thy  silent  hearth  ? 

This  morn  its  echo  to  our  laugh 
Was  its  last  sound  of  mirth. 

"Then  let  us  pray,  for  his  dear  sake, 
That  God  may  still  be  near, 

To  comfort  and  uphold  his  soul, 
Amid  its  grief  and  fear/' 


She  knelt  upon  the  less'ning  rock  ; 

Higher  the  dark  waves  grew, 
Till  o'er  her  meek  head,  bending  down, 

Their  glitt'ring  spray  they  threw. 


192 

"Up,  up,  my  child!"  in  frantic  dread, 
The  wretched  mother  cried  ; 

She  saved  awhile  her  bright-haired  one, 
But  the  dear  baby  died. 

It  'scaped  her  now  enfeebled  hold, 

It  sank  amid  the  wave  ; 
And  the  poor  mother  shrieked  its  knell, 

Above  a  foaming  grave. 

She  had  saved  awhile,  'twas  but   awhile 
Her  bright-haired  one  from  death  ; 

The  wraves  claimed  other  victims  yet, 
And  chilled  her  with  their  breath. 


193 

More  faint  she  grew,  she  could  not  strive 
Against  their  weight,  and  they, 

Mocking  the  mother's  agony, 
Bore  the  fair  child  away. 

She  floated  on  the  billow's  breast 
Her  hands  still  clasped  in  prayer ; 

Could  angels  die — their  dying  scene 
Might  have  been  pictured  there. 

On,  on,  the  waves  rolled  on  apace  ; 

The  mother  held  on  high 

Her  last  surviving  babe, — in  vain, — 

Together  they  shall  die. 
13 


194 

Unconscious,  for  the  grasp  of  fear 

Had  ta'en  all  sense  away, 
Like  a  flower  upon  the  mother's  breast, 

Struck  to  the  heart  she  lay. 

Oh  !   who  the  mother's   grief  may  paint, 
Clasping  her  drooping  child  ? 

Or  who  shall  marvel  if  her  words 
Rose  fearfully  and  wild  ? 

"Father  of  all,  thine  eye  is  closed 

In  this  dread  hour  of  fear  ; 
Thou  couldst  not  mark  such  agony, 

And  yet  refuse  to  hear. 


195 

"My  God,  my  God,  desert  me  not; — 

Oh,  spare  this  little  one  ! 
And  yet, — all  gracious  God  of  heaven, 

Thy  blessed  will  be  done." 

Sudden,  her  eye  had  sunk  subdued, — 
She  bowed  her  humbled  head  ; — 

She  knew  she  clasped   in  childless  arms 
Her  gentle  infant — dead. 

No  more  she  prayed  to  God  for  life, 
Nor  strove  against  the  tide  ; 

And  the  lifeless  and  the  living  one 
Down  to  the  ocean  glide. 


196 

Nought  was  relaxed  that  tender  clasp, 
Though  the  baby  felt  no  more  ; 

And  on  their  chilling  breasts  the  waves 
To  death  the  mother  bore. 

She  raised  her  gentle  heart  to  heaven, 
For  strength  to  her  was  given  ; 

She  called  upon  the  name  of  God, 
And  gave  her  soul  to  heaven. 


197 


G R 'S  HYMN. 

Father  of  all,  to  thee  I  bend, 

The  sinner's  hope,  the  infant's  friend  ; 

Father  of  all5  to  thee  I  fly, 

The  Saviour  through  eternity 

Of  all  who  seek  thee  out  in  prayer, 

Of  all  who  ask  thy  guardian  care, 

Of  all  who  raise  a  pleading  eye 

In  trusting  faithfulness  on  high, 

Of  all  who  seek  their  way  to  win, 

From  out  the  fatal  paths  of  sin. 


198 

Father  of  all,  to  thee  I  bend, 

The  sinner's  hope,  the  infant's  friend  ; 

Thou  wilt  not  turn  away  thine  eye, 

Thou  wilt  not  leave  my  soul  to  die  ; 

Worthless,  unworthy  as  I  am, 

The  blood  of  thy  most  holy  Lamb 

Has    washed,    has     cleansed     my    faults 

away, 
Has  formed  anew  this  sinful  clay, 
And  reigning  now,  by  thy  right  hand, 
He  trains  for  heaven  a  righteous  band. 

Father  of  all,  to  thee  I  bend, 

The  sinner's  hope,  the  infant's  friend  ; 


199 

Lord  make  me  of  that  righteous  band, 
Lord  guide  me  to  that  sainted  land, 
Where  countless  angels  hourly  sing 
Hosannas  to  the  mighty  King, 
Who    reigns    in    heaven,    in    earth    and 

air, 
Whose  wondrous  works  are  every  where  ; 
Whose  mercies,  boundless  as  his  love, 
Can  fit  me  for  a  home  above. 

Father  of  all,  to  thee  I  bend, 
The  sinner's  hope,  the  infant's  friend : 
Let  me  not  tread  that  path  alone 
That  leads  to  thee  ;  thine  eye  has  known 


200 

All  my  past  life,  and  thou  hast  seen 

What  thy  frail  child  had  surely  been, 

Without  that  gentle  parent's  care 

Who  trained  his  early  thoughts  to  prayer ; 

And  thou  hast  seen,  Lord,  from  on  high, 

How  truly,  fondly,  faithfully 

Those    bonds    are    weaved    which    thou 

hast  blest 
Deep  in  each  Brother's  faithful  breast ; — 
Lord,  be   those    bonds  which  thou    hast 

given 
Unsevered,  when  we  meet  in  heaven  ! 


201 


HYMN. 

I  love  the  summer  sun,  that  sheds 

Its  golden  rays  of  light  ; 
I  love  the  stars  that  gleam  amid 

The  canopy  of  night. 

No  ray  upon  this  lower  world 
The  glitt'ring  sun  lets  fall, 

No  twinkling  star  but  does  proclaim 
That  God  is  all  in  all. 


-2i)2 

And,  oh  !  I  love  the  bright  wild  flowers, 
Their  fair  and  slender  stems, 

And  the  half  opening  buds  that  form 
Their  simple  diadems. 

Each  slender  stem,  each  fragile  leaf, 

Each  opening  bud  betrays 
The  beauty  of  the  hand  of  God, 

In  all  his  wondrous  ways. 

I  love  to  hear,  at  evening's  close, 
The  blackbird's  liquid  note ; 

Or  like  to  waving  fairy  hells, 
The  red-breast's  music  float. 


203 

No  warbler  pours  its  strain  along 
The  depths  of  the  green  wood, 

But  seems,  in  its  gushing  song,  to  tell 
That  God  is  very  good. 

The  sun,  the  moon,  the  singing  birds, 
The  merest  weed  or  flower 

That  blossoms  but  at  his  command, 
Speaks  his  unrivalled  power. 


204 


HYMN. 

11  Thou  art  my  God ;    early  will  I  seek  thee." 
(Psalm  lxiii.  1.) 

Christ  Jesus,  Saviour  of  mankind, 

Hear  a  poor  infant  pray  ; 
I  long  to  tread  the  righteous  path, 

If  thou  wilt  lead  the  way. 

Lead  me,  my  Father,  lead  thy  child, 
Even  at  thy  throne  to  how  ; 

And  stamp  the  cross  of  holiness 
Upon  his  youthful  brow. 


205 

Many,  of  years  as  few  as  mine, 
Are  brought  to  see  thy  power, 

And  to   declare,  in  lisping  tones, 
Thy  praises  every  hour. 

Oh  !  let  me  follow  in  their  path, — 
The  path  that  leads  to  thee  ; 

Let  the  morning  of  my  life  be  pure, 
That  pure  its  close  may  be. 


206 


THE  MISSIONARY'S  GRAVE. 

Come  hither,  R n,  I  have  met 

With  a  pretty  tale  to-day, 
One  like  to  those  you  love  the  best.- 

Ah  !  there,  your  favo'rite  play 
All  suddenly  is  laid  aside, 

It  pleases  now  no  more  : — 
Well,  listen^  dearest  child,  and  know 

That  upon  India's  shore, 
To  the  dark  tribes  of  that  far  land, 

The  Bible  is  unknown  : 


207 

They  kneel  not  to  the  Christian's  God ; 

They  worship  wood  and  stone  ; 
And  many  are  the  fearful  rites 

Their  darkened  hearts  employ, 
As  offerings  to  the  heathen's  god. 

Such  as,  my  gentle  boy, 
Would  curdle  thy  young  blood  to  hear ; 

But  with  these  scenes  of  woe, 
My  present  tale  has  nought  to  do  : — 

It  chanced  that,  long  ago, 
When    wand 'ring   through    the   gorgeous 
west, 

A  youthful  stranger  came 


208 

To  a  city  that  his  swarthy  guide 

Called  by  a  Christian  name  : 
Its  silver  domes  and  towers  of  gold 

Shone  with  a  dazzling  light, 
Reflecting  back  with  burning  ray 

The  sun's  meridian  height : 
But  yet  in  vain  the  golden  beams, 

Like  sunny  smiles,  were  shed, 
For  all  seemed  cheerless,  sad,  and  still 

As  the  city  of  the  dead. 
And  woman's  eye  was  dimmed  with  grief, 

And  childhood's  ready  tear 
Flowed  silent,  and  the  warrior  band 
Leant  with  dark  brow  and  idle  hand, 


209 

Upon  the  disregarded  brand, 
Or  on  the  bloodless  spear. 

Mutely  the  wanderer  stood  and  gazed, 

When,  lo  !  with  solemn  toll, 
A  muffled  bell  speaks  to  his  ear 

Of  a  departing  soul  : 
And  then  an  earnest  eager  crowrd 

Came  hast'ning  blindly  on, 
And  bore  him,  in  their  hurrying  course, 

Half  willingly  along  : 
Some  wearing  wreaths  of  flow'rets  came, 

And  some  with  jewels  crowned, 
14 


210 

And  many  scattered  jessamine  leaves, 

And  spice  and  perfume  round  ; 
Until  without  the  city  gate, 

They  bowed  them  down  in  prayer  : 
Well  might  the  stranger  wond'ring  gaze, 

A  Christian's  grave  was  there  ; 
Then  rose  again  the  frantic  wail, 

And  thus  he  questioned  low, 
Of  an  old  warrior  by  his  side, 

Why  all  these  signs  of  woe  . — 
"  Say,  has  there  passed  from  this  glad  earth 

One  of  a  mighty  line  ; 
That  thus  a  nation  bends  in  grief, 

Beside  yon  sainted  shrine  : 


211 

Fell  the  loved  chieftain  of  your  tribe  ?" 

The  warrior  answered  thus. 
While  pointing  to  a  reverend  form, 

"  Our  chieftain  mourns  with  us  ; 
His  kingly  robes  are  cast  aside, 

He  bears  no  state  to-day, 
But  bent,  his  humblest  slave  beside, 

Kneels  on  the  earth  to  pray  : — 
Farther  I  may  not  answer  now, 

But,  stranger,  wend  with  me  ; 
Or,  stay,  seest  thou  the  lonely  cot 

Beneath  the  tall  palm-tree  ? 
Go  rest  thee  there  ;  I  may  not  leave 

Yet  for  awhile  the  sod, 


212 

Where,  Christian,  we  are  met  to  pray, 

Unto  the  Christian's  God." 
He  bowed  his  stately  head,  and  wraved 

The  stranger  from  his  side, 
And  soon  to  prayer's  meek  accents  sank 

His  lofty  voice  of  pride. 

Now,  when  the  sacred  rites  are  o'er, 

The  Indian's  kindly  breast 
Gave  forth  its  friendly  welcoming, 

To  his  young  Christian  guest ; — 
"  Stranger,"  he  said,   "  when  yonder  bell 

Tolled  for  this  solemn  day, 
You  questioned  if  a  chieftain's  soul 


213 

Was  passing  hence  away, 
That  thus  we  mourned  !  No,  stranger,  no ; 

You  saw  our  mighty  chief, 
Humbled  like  us  beneath  the  power, 

The  mastery  of  grief: 
You  saw  him,  on  that  lowly  grave, 

Bending  a  willing  knee, 
In  token  that  there  slumbered  there 

A  mightier  than  he. 

'•  Brief  is  the  tale — ten  years  ago 

To  images  of  gold 
We  gave  our  worship,  wood  and  stone, 

Gods  that  were  bought  and  sold  ; 


214 

But  one  there  came,  of  British  birth. 

From  his  own  native  shore, 
To  teach  us  of  the  one  true  God. 

Who  reigns  for  evermore  ; 
A  God  of  might,  yet  full  of  love 

For  the  lovers  of  his  name, 
Unchanged,  unchangeable  through  time, 

Eternally  the  same  : 
His  was  the  ever-powerful  arm, 

That  raised  this  wondrous  earth, 
And  his  the  love  that  gave  for  us, 

One  of  immortal  birth, 
To  weep,  and  agonize,  and  die 

Upon  the  cross  of  death, 


215 

Breathing  forth  love  to  our  lost  race, 
E'en  with  his  latest  breath. 

"Yes,  stranger,  yes,  all  this  and  more 

He  taught  our  hearts  to  know  ; 
But  death's  dread  warrant  had  gone  forth, 

It  laid  our  best  friend  low  : 
Yet,  stranger,  though  we  see  him  not, 

His  precious  words  remain. 
And  this  our  boast  and  privilege — 

We  bear  the  Christian's  name. 
Three  years  ago,  on  this  same  day, 

Stranger,  the  white  man  died  ; 
Three  times  at  twelve  moons'  interval 


We've  bent  his  grave  beside. 
And  still,  through  each  successive  year, 

Upon  this  sacred  day, 
We  plead   to  heaven,  to  Christ,  to  God, 

To  wash  our  sins  away  !" 
May  he  in  mercy  hear  the  prayer 

Of  the  poor  Indian's  breast ; 
And  grant  to  his  benighted  land 

The  day-star  of  the  blest. 


217 


HYMN. 

Father,  remember  me,  thy  child, 

In  every  coming  hour : 
I  feel  my  weakness,  strengthen  me 

With  thy  almighty  power. 

Remember  me  when  my  young  heart 
With  every  bliss  o'erflows, 

And  all  the  world's  best,  dearest  joys 
Thy  bounteous  hand  bestows. 


21 

And  teach  me  then  to  raise  my  soul 
In  grateful  praise  to  thee  ; 

Oh,  in  the  careless  day  of  joy, 
Father,  remember  me  ! — 

Remember  me  when  sorrow  comes, 
To  blight  this  buoyant  heart ; 

For  I,  my  God,  may  live  to  see 
Its  every  bliss  depart. 

And  lead  me  then  to  seek  relief, 
My  God,  from  only  thee  ; 

Oh,  in  the  bitter  hours  of  grief, 
Father,  remember  me  ! — 


219 

Remember  me  when,  on  the  bed 

Of  sickness  and  of  death, 
My  straining  eyeball  shuns  the  light, 

And  fails  my  struggling  breath. 
Then,  then,  oh,  grant  thy  sinking  child, 

Sure  hope  and  help  in  thee  ; 
Great  Jesus  in  the  hour  of  death, 

Save  and  remember  me  ! 


220 


HYMN. 

I  know,  when  I  lie  down  to  sleep, 
That  God  is  near  my  bed  ; 

That  angels  watch,  by  his  command, 
Around  my  infant  head. 

I  know,  when  I  kneel  down  to  pray, 
That  still  my  God  is  there  ; 

He  hears  my  word,  he  sees  my  thoughts, 
And  will  accept  my  prayer. 


221 

I  know,  when  I  go  forth  to  play 

That  God  is  by  my  side  ; 
Through  every  hour,  at  every  step, 

He  is  my  guard  and  guide. 

I  know  his  eye  sees  every  thing, 

In  earth,  and  sea,  and  air  ; 
That  he,  in  darkness  as  in  light, 

Can  see  me  every  where. 

Then  let  me  guard  each  thought,  each  word, 
Lest  he  should  chance  to  find 

Evil  within  a  heart  that  should 
Be  gentle,  meek,  and  kind. 


222 


THE  SABBATH  HYMN. 

List  to  that  murm'ring  sound,  the  name 

Of  God  is  fitly  praised  ; — 
It  is  the  solemn  sabbath  hymn, 

By  infant  voices  raised. 

Gaze  on,  it  is  a  lovely  sight, 
For  there,  linked  hand  in  hand, 

The   little  worshippers  around 
Their  gentle   mother  stood. 


223 

And  on  each  infant's  dimpled  cheek, 
And  on  each  brow  is  set, 

A  seal  of  budding  holiness, 
Shall  bear  rich  blossom  yet. 

For  depths  of  holy  tenderness 
Lurk  in  each  gentle  eye  ; 

And  soon  a  mother's  earnest  care 
Shall  raise  that  love  on  high. 

Gaze  on,  it  is  a  lovely  sight 
Those  beings,  young  as  fair, 

Are  bound  by  ties  of  brotherhood 
One  family  is  there, 


224 

At  morn,  at  eve,  and  oftentimes, 
Throughout  the  summer  day, 

We  hear  their  infant  voices  rise 
Together,  when  they  pray. 


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